Guest Blogger: BA Spears
I’m 50. For my generation, social media started with the junior high “Slam Book,” where we wrote supposedly anonymous but always identifiable comments about our peers, ranging from genuine compliments to cruel attacks. We then graduated to phone conversations in which a group of giggling girls on extensions throughout the home of some accommodating parent chatted with a group of pimpled pubescent boys gathered around one phone in some young man’s basement for the five minutes that the boys feigned interest in the conversation. Eventually, media became the excuse for social: a gathering in someone’s den to watch a Movie of the Week on Saturday night, where the evening’s theme was chatting, flirting and sneaking kisses between the host mom’s infrequent trips to the room to refill sodas or popcorn bowls.
In the ’70s and ‘80s, the life of parents and the lives of their children were almost completely separate, even when they lived under the same roof: parents were not part of their children’s social circle until long after the children grew up, married, and began attending some of the same social events as parents. Family life and social lives were strangely divided, and I would not have dreamed of sharing even mundane details of my life and my friends’ lives with my parents.
My generation, rejecting the decision of our parents to remain distant, and perhaps feeling a wistful desire for greater generational interaction within the family, changed that formula when becoming parents. We attended our children’s events, we stayed in the room during their parties, we eagerly volunteered to chaperone events so that we could be on site, in the midst, part of the fun. We did not want to miss our children’s lives! And in doing so, we earned the name “helicopter parents,” because we hover around our children, watching them, protecting them, and perhaps not giving them the space required to grow up.
Because we are so deeply engaged in our children’s lives, their departure from home to attend college, enter the military, or take a job in another area, brings a grief so deep it is akin to death. Our relationship to our children has become defined by our presence in their day-to-day affairs. Enter Facebook! Texting! Twitter! YouTube! Social media now fills the gap created by their physical absence and gives us a new type of relationship with our children that we never dreamed existed.
My daughter left for college and soon afterward said to me (apparently feeling no guilt or concern about this comment at all!): “Mom, I don’t always have time to answer your calls. Just text me, and when I have time, I’ll text you back.” After learning to text – a challenge for middle-aged eyes and fingers – I began to text, and soon, we had developed a pattern of communication that at least assured me she was alive and well. When I began to lament that the texts were nice but that I’d really like to see her face, she responded (again, with no trace of guilt or concern!), “You need to get on Facebook. I post pics and comments there almost every day, and you’ll know what I’m doing, where I am, who I’m with, and you’ll be able to see me in my pictures.” Really? That’s how she wanted to communicate with her mother? But in desperation, I struggled through what is, I’m sure, a simple process to set up a Facebook page.
True to her word, my daughter was my first Facebook friend. And that’s when it truly happened: we became friends in a way we’d never been friends before. We still retained our warm mother-daughter bond; we still had occasional late-night phone chats; we still wrote old-fashioned snail mail letters (she knows her mom is old school, after all!). I remained a helicopter parent, but Facebook was my helicopter, allowing me to hover on the fringe of her life at most times but make an appearance when needed, satisfying her need for space to grow while satisfying my need to be informed. I began to meet her friends, experience aspects of her social life, see her friends’ comments and jokes, watch YouTube videos of my daughter and her friends. I felt engaged in her life again but she felt free to live that life as the young adult she had become.
Eventually, as I grew more comfortable with forming relationships through social media and having access to her friends’ comments, thoughts and pictures, I became brave enough to actually respond to their comments, thinking to myself that I might be making a huge mistake. These cool young college coeds might be offended by a gray-haired mom’s intrusion on their lives.
Their response? They sent me Facebook friend requests, too! And as they embraced me, I embraced them, getting to know a whole new group of bright young minds who are excited about politics, the economy, the environment! Of course, I remain cautious. I comment only when I believe I can add humor, insight, or an encouraging word. When I see things of which I disapprove (and that does happen!), I remain largely silent or I send a private message of encouragement. I am not the Facebook police, and I am not there to judge their lives. But I am so grateful to be a part of this tremendous social media phenomenon that has enriched my life so much!
Facing Facebook and other forms of social media as a means of maintaining a relationship with my child seemed strange, foreign, and scary to a little old lady who still found email to be somewhat challenging. I have parked my hovering helicopter and walked right through the door, becoming fully engaged in my adult daughter’s social media life. I begin and end each day logging in. Her posts appear on my page, and I see quickly that she is happy. Then I can go on about my business of Facebooking with my own middle-aged friends, some of whom wrote in my Slam Books, giggled on the phone with me at slumber parties, and gathered at my house to not watch movies. Facebook has reconnected me with those friends, introduced me to new friends, and reinvented my family relationships. And my life would be much bleaker without it.
I’m 50. For my generation, social media started with the junior high “Slam Book,” where we wrote supposedly anonymous but always identifiable comments about our peers, ranging from genuine compliments to cruel attacks. We then graduated to phone conversations in which a group of giggling girls on extensions throughout the home of some accommodating parent chatted with a group of pimpled pubescent boys gathered around one phone in some young man’s basement for the five minutes that the boys feigned interest in the conversation. Eventually, media became the excuse for social: a gathering in someone’s den to watch a Movie of the Week on Saturday night, where the evening’s theme was chatting, flirting and sneaking kisses between the host mom’s infrequent trips to the room to refill sodas or popcorn bowls.
In the ’70s and ‘80s, the life of parents and the lives of their children were almost completely separate, even when they lived under the same roof: parents were not part of their children’s social circle until long after the children grew up, married, and began attending some of the same social events as parents. Family life and social lives were strangely divided, and I would not have dreamed of sharing even mundane details of my life and my friends’ lives with my parents.
My generation, rejecting the decision of our parents to remain distant, and perhaps feeling a wistful desire for greater generational interaction within the family, changed that formula when becoming parents. We attended our children’s events, we stayed in the room during their parties, we eagerly volunteered to chaperone events so that we could be on site, in the midst, part of the fun. We did not want to miss our children’s lives! And in doing so, we earned the name “helicopter parents,” because we hover around our children, watching them, protecting them, and perhaps not giving them the space required to grow up.
Because we are so deeply engaged in our children’s lives, their departure from home to attend college, enter the military, or take a job in another area, brings a grief so deep it is akin to death. Our relationship to our children has become defined by our presence in their day-to-day affairs. Enter Facebook! Texting! Twitter! YouTube! Social media now fills the gap created by their physical absence and gives us a new type of relationship with our children that we never dreamed existed.
My daughter left for college and soon afterward said to me (apparently feeling no guilt or concern about this comment at all!): “Mom, I don’t always have time to answer your calls. Just text me, and when I have time, I’ll text you back.” After learning to text – a challenge for middle-aged eyes and fingers – I began to text, and soon, we had developed a pattern of communication that at least assured me she was alive and well. When I began to lament that the texts were nice but that I’d really like to see her face, she responded (again, with no trace of guilt or concern!), “You need to get on Facebook. I post pics and comments there almost every day, and you’ll know what I’m doing, where I am, who I’m with, and you’ll be able to see me in my pictures.” Really? That’s how she wanted to communicate with her mother? But in desperation, I struggled through what is, I’m sure, a simple process to set up a Facebook page.
True to her word, my daughter was my first Facebook friend. And that’s when it truly happened: we became friends in a way we’d never been friends before. We still retained our warm mother-daughter bond; we still had occasional late-night phone chats; we still wrote old-fashioned snail mail letters (she knows her mom is old school, after all!). I remained a helicopter parent, but Facebook was my helicopter, allowing me to hover on the fringe of her life at most times but make an appearance when needed, satisfying her need for space to grow while satisfying my need to be informed. I began to meet her friends, experience aspects of her social life, see her friends’ comments and jokes, watch YouTube videos of my daughter and her friends. I felt engaged in her life again but she felt free to live that life as the young adult she had become.
Eventually, as I grew more comfortable with forming relationships through social media and having access to her friends’ comments, thoughts and pictures, I became brave enough to actually respond to their comments, thinking to myself that I might be making a huge mistake. These cool young college coeds might be offended by a gray-haired mom’s intrusion on their lives.
Their response? They sent me Facebook friend requests, too! And as they embraced me, I embraced them, getting to know a whole new group of bright young minds who are excited about politics, the economy, the environment! Of course, I remain cautious. I comment only when I believe I can add humor, insight, or an encouraging word. When I see things of which I disapprove (and that does happen!), I remain largely silent or I send a private message of encouragement. I am not the Facebook police, and I am not there to judge their lives. But I am so grateful to be a part of this tremendous social media phenomenon that has enriched my life so much!
Facing Facebook and other forms of social media as a means of maintaining a relationship with my child seemed strange, foreign, and scary to a little old lady who still found email to be somewhat challenging. I have parked my hovering helicopter and walked right through the door, becoming fully engaged in my adult daughter’s social media life. I begin and end each day logging in. Her posts appear on my page, and I see quickly that she is happy. Then I can go on about my business of Facebooking with my own middle-aged friends, some of whom wrote in my Slam Books, giggled on the phone with me at slumber parties, and gathered at my house to not watch movies. Facebook has reconnected me with those friends, introduced me to new friends, and reinvented my family relationships. And my life would be much bleaker without it.
Some folks get better and wiser with age. Barbara Anne is one of them. I was one of those boys that admired you long ago and I still do. Best Wishes with your new blog!
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