Against my better judgment I caved in and let my 12-year old get a Facebook page.
After months of begging, Olivia wore me down. I was preoccupied with something and before I knew what had happened, Olivia was uploading a profile picture.
"What are you doing?"
"Facebook. You said I could."
She caught me when I was distracted—the oldest trick in the book. I had said yes without even realizing I'd said it. If I changed my mind, I'd just start a war that I wasn't in the mood to fight.
I'll give her credit. She'd presented a good argument. She had lots of non-school friends from outside activities. How do you get in touch with them without a Facebook account? Using the telephone is so 1980s. Besides, if I told her to call her friends, she'd remind me how she's the only kid in her entire school—maybe in all of L.A.—without a cell phone. And if that wasn't bad enough, she was the only kid without a Facebook account.
A Facebook account seemed the lesser of two evils. You can't lose a Facebook account at the mall. You can't drop a Facebook account in the toilet by accident. You can't shatter a Facebook account into a million pieces.
So, even though I knew that this was a big mistake, I let her sign up.
I regretted it immediately. With the first few clicks I could tell she transformed into a FB junkie. She looked the way I felt the first time I watched The Buggles on MTV's debut. Her eyes were enormous. Then her fingers flew along the keyboard. What hath I wrought? She has such an addictive personality. Thank God Farmville is so two years ago!
A few minutes later, my computer tinged. I checked my e-mails.
A friend request from Olivia.
I may let her join Facebook, but I absolutely refuse to friend my daughter. I will never be one of those parents with a bunch of twelve-year old followers. There are some places kids just don't belong—next to me at a bar or on my Facebook page. I can't even go to the bathroom without one of my girls barging in on me. Let me have my space somewhere—even if it's just on a computer screen!
But unbeknownst to my oh-so-hip daughter, by attempting to "friend" me, she had given me access to her page. Now everything I need to know about my daughter, I've learned through her Facebook page. She is inspired by Andy Samberg? Really! How does she know who he is? And how does he inspire her? Should I be concerned? And since when does she watch SNL?
Her favorite quote is from the artist, Rene Magritte. "Ceci n'est pas une pipe." I didn't see that one coming. But I was impressed—she likes surrealism and she's a bit fluent in French. How come I didn't know this? Who is this child spouting off ironic French quotes? Do I even know my daughter?
Not at all.
What? She "likes" a Greek yogurt page! Then why does she whine every single morning that there's nothing good for breakfast! There's always plenty of Greek yogurt in the fridge. She "likes" Starbucks? When I stop there, she reacts as if I've pulled up to the dentist's office. And she "likes" Fendi? Who is she—a middle aged Beverly Hills housewife?
Then I scrolled through her friends. Amy? Just yesterday she proclaimed that she was her "arch nemisis" Had they made amends?
Despite the fact that once she knew I was privy to her world, she'd find a way to block me, I couldn't resist talking to her about my discoveries. Who was this child whose favorite sports were swimming and extreme thumbsucking?
"Why did you friend Amy— I thought you hated each other."
"Why are you stalking me on Facebook? Besides, I didn't friend her. She friended me."
"So, you guys are friends now?"
Olivia rolled her eyes. "No. Just on Facebook. She probably wants to have a lot of Facebook friends. But we still don't like each other."
This seemed to make perfect sense to her. I was just too dense to understand this logic.
"And I saw you 'like' Susie's profile picture. I thought you didn't talk to each other anymore."
"We don't. "
Another eye roll. Then her computer tinged with an instant message from her arch nemesis that she had to answer even though they wouldn't have this conversation in person. Ever.
I guess I don't understand anything about being a tween girl in the electronic age. Commenting on Facebook and talking in person are as different as being a fan of yogurt and actually eating it.
And although Olivia might not realize it, her "favorite" quote makes perfect sense in the surreal Facebook universe. The Treachery of Images, one of Rene Magritte's most famous paintings is a depiction of a pipe. Underneath he writes, 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe.' This is not a pipe. His point being, this is just an image of a pipe, not an actual pipe.
This is just an image of a friend, not an actual friend.
Not a bad favorite quote for a Facebook page even if I'd never considered it until I saw it on my daughter's page. Maybe I'll borrow it and proclaim it mine. How will Olivia ever know?
After all, I may not be as savvy as she is, but I was smart enough to block her from my page the minute she opened her account.