It’s Not Stalking. It’s Relationship Reconnaissance.

Remember when you were young (I’ll give you a minute…. Got  it? Ok.) So, anyway, remember when you were young and you first discovered you were becoming attracted to someone?  Not actually dating them yet, just discovering that you were getting the makings of a wicked good crush. Remember that stealthy way you started getting to know them better, without actually making contact? Watching them from afar, until they glanced in your direction, then quickly looking away; pretending you were actually deep in thought studying that tree/ bathroom door/ flyer for the math club/ bare wall etc. Remember changing the way you walked to class so your paths’ would “accidently” cross, even though you didn’t have class in that building? (That school.) The casual way you would “wander” by them at nutrition, lunch, the bus stop (…their house at 1am in a headlight free car with your best friend? No? Just me then?) If you were really brave, and had the right kind of friends, you could find yourself bumping into your new obsession in the mall, the movies or the local hang out afterschool or on the weekends.

However you chose to do it, you probably spent some time in your youth aim-fully wandering around somewhere, hoping for a chance encounter where you would do absolutely nothing, except pretend that the encounter was chance, if you even acknowledged it in the first place. Casually appearing on the radar. Notice ME! Remember me! Think about me just before you fall asleep at night! PLEASE!

                Until recently I was unaware how much having adult children is like being back in the pubescent world of stealthy pursuit. My two oldest moved out a month or so ago. My excitement for their adventure has not waned. I'm not pining for them. I'm not wandering my empty halls at night, holding discarded pillowcases or items of clothing, in order to reconnect with their particular smell. I know that description sounds a little too on target for someone not actually performing these actions,  but I swear I haven't gotten there yet. (Yet.)           
              Mostly I don’t do this because I have two other wonderful children still at home, so the emptiness echoes less. Also, because in their desperate escape they left no stone unturned. (At least no stone I’d like to wander around sniffing.) Still, I've been able to avoid intruding on their new found freedom, mostly. I've managed to limit the Skype sessions, (one apiece in a month) and the phone calls, to “necessities.” I sent a few cute post cards, to keep in touch but not annoy. I’ve been doing great. I don’t know what everyone was so worried about. This is not that hard. I hardly even notice they're gone. On the other hand I feel I have a great advantage over my predecessor generation. The internet.

Thanks to this wonderful modern invention I find myself on Facebook a little more frequently (if you can imagine that possibility.) Each time I go online, I nonchalantly glance at the list which indicates “who’s online now” just to see if they’re there, you know, in case of a chance encounter. I wouldn’t say I check it frequently, so much as more frequently than before.  I casually look over the status updates to see if they posted anything about their day, their classes, their job hunts--scanning for new photos, added friends, their high score in Bejeweled; pretty much any crumb which creates a connection to them.  

I've had to be stealthy though. I don’t want to smother them or be accused of cyber stalking my child (the new ultimate sin of invasion visited upon youth.)  So there I was last week, in the middle of a response to one of my son’s Facebook statuses, when I suddenly realized it was the fourth or fifth I had made that day… ok, that hour. I was about to blow my cover and get caught. (Quick…look at a wall, duck into the first open doorway, RUN!) I went back over his page deleting my comments; carefully editing myself back out of his day, leaving a couple of noncommittal comments and smiley faces. Just enough to remind him I’m here. Still here. Just, you know, hangin' out and stuff. (Psst. Notice me.) God! I so thought this part of life was long over!
            For now I’ll have to settle for reminding myself, that it’s enough just to see them from afar. Love them secretly from here-- hiding out in the Facebook bushes, where I am carefully planning my next coincidental collision in the cyber corridor. It’s not stalking. It’s relationship reconnaissance. Totally different!

Come Over to the Dark Side.

          I have spent the last few years trying to lure my sister into joining the social networking community. (Come on. All your friends are doing it.) Her response is always, “I don’t have time.” Which is a legitimate excuse, considering how much of my time is sucked up by the internet. Although, upon reflection, I have found this reason lacks accuracy and understanding of the social networking phenomena.

          I began my foray into social networking with a MySpace account. I joined so I could keep track of my teen and preteens as they hitchhiked along technology’s superhighway. After all, you wouldn’t just drop your kid off on the side of the freeway and hope they get home safely (although admittedly that has crossed my mind on several raucous family outings.)

          This was back when you just had a plain profile page, no cool backgrounds, creative fonts, or colorful texts—simply a picture of your face and just enough personal information to get you into trouble. Then my daughter, techy that she is, redesigned her space. Well, that looked kind of cool. I’d like to give MYspace  a fresh new look, just for fun. I could do that…couldn’t I?

          No. I couldn’t. What I knew about computers at the time was that they were glorified typewriters/encyclopedias. I learned binary in high-school.  Oh so useful in real life, (especially to a dyslexic.) Technically speaking I think I should actually say I was SHOWN binary in high school. I learned nothing. So I went to the source, asking my 14 year old question after question. How did you do that? Where do you find that? Why is it doing that? Did I just enter the atomic launch codes that will begin World War III? (Yes, I had an inane fear that I could somehow affect some serious damage by mistakenly entering the wrong data. Don’t laugh. You weren’t there. It could happen!)

          It was not long (about 10 minutes) before my daughter discovered two important details. One, I was an idiot. And two, without her help I had less of a chance to stalk her every teenaged move. It was at this point she adopted the “teach a man to fish” philosophy. Except her version was more “give a guy a pole and throw him in the river, then laugh while he struggles to survive.” Needless to say, I was on my own.

          I spent countless hours poking and prodding my Myspace. I had never seen HTML, the new language of computers. I still have only a loose grasp of its form and function. But slowly I discovered how to change a font, add a background, place glitter graphics as section heads.  And I felt wonderful. I felt young and accomplished and a little bit smart. I had conquered the internet, and along the way I had “friended” a few fellow moms trying to keep track of their own kids. I had wished Happy Birthday to a few people I probably wouldn’t have conveyed the sentiment to otherwise. I had shared a few laughs at a Youtube video or two and checked out photos of my friends’ families doing a myriad of activities.

          And so I was rolling along, enjoying my new found creative outlet and feeling accomplished; spending more time catching up with my own friends and refurbishing my home page than monitoring my kids, when I realized, someone was missing. Where was my teenager? Why were her posts fewer and fewer? Why were her friends commenting less and less? Why was my newsfeed getting shorter and shorter?

          Facebook. Yes, as soon as I mastered (and I use the term in the loosest sense) the world of MySpace the children disappeared down the rabbit hole into the land of Facebook. Dutifully and begrudgingly I followed. This new land was sort of plain and I didn’t “get it.” It wasn’t personalized or creative. Other than the fact that your parents weren’t there yet, what was the big draw? Statuses? Really? That’s it? Just random status updates about what your friends were eating for lunch, or what weird thing happened on the way to school? But this is where my kids had gone, and so I followed.

          Soon I started getting friend requests from the other parents transitioning over from MySpace. My high school reunion started taking shape and requests came from people I had not thought of in years. Most I didn’t care to become reacquainted with, but some were just lost in the shuffle of growing up; misplaced with the other youthful playthings I had cherished but set aside as memory while life unfolded. My Facebook exploded, albeit slowly over time, with the faces and voices of my past and present; merging into one hub of collective ruminations.

          Being a stay at home mom can be isolating. It’s not your fault. It just happens. And in my case, because I started my family so far ahead of all my friends, I had lost contact with most of the adult world, unless it pertained to one of my “mom” activities: school, scouts, little league etc. Everything I knew, everyone I knew, revolved around the lives of my children, and to a lesser degree my spouse.  Now, suddenly, through the wonders of modern technology I was connecting and reconnecting. I was existing as an individual.

          I have read some articles about how social networking is stunting our ability to interact in reality. In my case my life has been enhanced by social networking in a way I can not imagine living without. I am more connected than I ever could have been without it. I converse almost daily with two sisters I had barely known in their childhood. I have followed my niece’s pregnancy updates with excited anticipation, despite only having seen her twice since she turned 16. I met up a few weeks ago with my cousins and a family friend who I have not seen since my wedding 20 years ago.

True, with great effort these things all could have taken place in the real world, but I live in the real world and sometimes, I’m only available at 4am. How nice to know I can leave a thought for you without waking you up.  And in the real world, I couldn’t have shared in the joy of that new birth, or dance recital, because in the real world you are 12 states away and neither one of us can afford to travel. Social networking is just more convenient. It is the pen-pal of our generation.

Sure, I have spent countless hours posting photos or silly updates or quoting a particularly funny thing I heard that day. I have lost an entire day connecting little colored jewels, and rolling virtual dice, although I have never tended a crop or traded mafia equipment with anyone. I have spent entirely too much time reading YOUR updates, commenting on your photos, and laughing at the memes you shared. (I even learned what a meme is!) But I have also discovered a support network. When my day sucks, you’re there to give me a boost. When I am excited I have someone to share it with. When my husband had his heart attack, you knew about it right away, and I didn’t have to call 100 people to give them updates on his condition, I could do it in one 30 second post. And you could respond, send well wishes and prayers, offer assistance, in a way you could never have done before.

          This year I received almost a hundred birthday wishes. I probably sent at least as many. I was a part of your life. I watched your kids grow up a little. I saw your cool vacation photos and little Suzie’s first ballet recital. I heard about the demise of your Great Aunt Tilly and the family turtle. I have seen your new haircut, your new pet, your new house, your new car, your new husband. I invited you to a show and then actually got to hang out with you in person after a 20 year hiatus. I reconnected with old relatives (and yes, I meant “old” both ways.) I have taken and given advice with you. I have laughed with you and cried for you, and generally wondered what the hell you were thinking. What I have not done, was waste my time.

          I know you better now. I have invested in our friendship. I may have left a few real world chores undone while I did it, but I consider it time well spent. So I will continue to extol the virtues of social networking to my sister, and anyone else I’m dying to spend more time with, in hopes that we can share a little more, be a little closer, drift a little less. Resistance is futile. Come over to the dark-side. It’s a hell of a lot of fun.

One of us. One of us. One of us…..

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