At my daughter Lizzie’s age, I was immersed in virtual
worlds—spending most of my time alone in my room, shunning my parents, saying
no to any family activity I could get away with saying no to and, need I add, making my parents pay dearly for forcing me to participate in the ones I
couldn’t weasel or whine my way out of. These other realities I inhabited, these virtual worlds, were far more
interesting, more exciting, and more involving than my own boring suburban teen
reality. I fell into these worlds, lost
myself in these worlds, imagined myself as part of these worlds.
That is, I read.
Yes, I hail from the land of analog. I was a teen circa B.I. (before Internet). My kids, however, are natives of a different
land. Digital natives.
My born digital teen daughter immerses herself in other
realities. She travels backward and
forward in time, from medieval fiefdoms to distant planets, from Egyptian tombs
to post-apocalyptic robot worlds. She
explores deserts and forests, trudges through snow, drives an armored vehicle,
wields a sword. Her alternate worlds
stream into our house via the Internet. Mine arrived courtesy of the public library.
I think that the overlay of technology is so thick in our
culture; the change from before to after Internet is so dramatic, so pervasive, so
seemingly, utterly complete, that for a while I lost sight of how much the same
my teen years had been compared to my daughter’s. For awhile I thought the digital divide was
an unbridgeable chasm that would forever separate us, would always make her
unknowable in some basic way. Sure, now,
as an adult, I text and tweet, blog and pin, Facebook and Instagram. I stream video into my home. My music is a playlist on my smartphone. I competently navigate the digital
landscape every day. But I am not a
native. This is a terrain I had to
learn. It is my second language. My first language was books and vinyl albums
and phones that just made phone calls.
I realized we were spending our teen years doing essentially the same things (but differently).
But then I started thinking about the parallels: In the land before Internet I hadn’t texted my friends in class, but we passed notes. It accomplished the same purpose and engendered the same reaction from teachers. I hadn’t posted updates, but I had updated for
hours every night on the phone. I didn’t
depend on YouTube to deliver clips of people doing stupid things, but I saw
plenty of people doing stupid things when I watched America’s Funniest Home
Videos on TV. I hadn’t lost myself in
online games. But I did lose myself in
the worlds I found in books.
I realized we were spending our teen years doing
essentially the same things (but differently) and—here was my a-ha moment—doing them for the same reasons: the compulsion to communicate (except with
parents). The need to figure out who we
were. The push-pull between belonging
and standing out. The desire to be
anywhere other than where we are. The
adventuring spirit. The impatience for
life to begin.
So we did grow up in different lands. And we did grow up
speaking different languages. But the experience
of being or having once been a teen—the core coming-of-age issues, the
tumult, the confusion, the excitement, the pain—means we hold the same
And now, a word from the teenage daughter:
I got my first email address in 3rd grade. Not like I actually emailed anyone back then. I was still talking to people on the
playground and, besides, I hardly knew how to type. But you needed an
email account to do anything. Like
MySpace. I created my MySpace page in 4th grade, fibbing a little (OK, a lot) about my age. I spent many happy hours pimping my page,
choosing a music track, wallpaper, photos that popped up and moved and other
useless stuff that was supposed to tell the (online) world who I was. Then I got into IMVU, a social networking,
instant chat space where you have an avatar that can meet other avatars. It’s like the PG version of Second Life. That lasted for maybe a year. Now I’m on the Internet to check email and Facebook and YouTube and craigslist, and to look at the
newest hair fashions. I buy music online. I stream movies and TV shows. And
I play on X-Box Live.
Why do I spend so much time on the Internet? It’s pretty much necessary to my life. Facebook keeps me up-to-date with people who
are not really my friends (I text with actual friends or hang out with them in
real life). I need email for school and
job hunting. It’s impossible to do
either without going online. Streaming
movies is cheap entertainment (yay!) and playing on X-Box is how me and my
boyfriend bond. The games immerse you in
another reality and, I’ll tell you the truth, they’re addictive.
Here’s what I have to say to moms with teens who seem to be
spending a lot of time on the computer. The computer is not the problem! It’s that tiny portable computer in their back pocket that’s the
problem. You know—the smartphone. I’ve noticed that teens spend more time on
the Internet on their smart phones than they do socializing. I mean even when they are in a group that is
socializing. So you’re trying to have a
conversation and they’re Facebooking and Googling and Instagramming and Spotifying and doing everything other than looking you in the eye and talking
to you. I’m betting this happens at the
dinner table, too, right?
And, by the way, how much time did YOU just spend online