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Parenting: Is Aol Worse Than TV?

Law-enforcement authorities were supposedly called and a search was conducted for the culprit. As it turned out, the letters were sent by a classmate. "At the end of it, the kid was reprimanded," says the friend of the family. "The offending family didn't even take it seriously -- 'Oh, please, that? It's just a practical joke.' "

Part of the problem is that different families have different attitudes toward their children's use of the Internet and how much oversight is too much to exercise online. In the old days -- which means maybe two years ago -- parents could at least draw some comfort from the knowledge that whatever weird behavior and warped values our children were exposed to during the day at school, we had several solid hours to deprogram them. Home, for all its problems, remained a relative oasis of right-headedness. But with the ascendance of the Buddy List, it's as if my kid's entire fifth-grade class -- some of whose parents are strict, not even allowing their children to have their own screen names or use the Internet when they're not in the room, whereas other parents exercise no oversight -- has moved into our apartment. Life has become one big sleepover.

Some parents rigorously regulate when their children can use the Internet. "I don't let them go on the Internet without me in the room," one mother says flatly. "No chat rooms. She isn't allowed to have her own password. She isn't allowed to open mail from screen names she doesn't know. She isn't allowed to pester people with those stupid chain letters. I periodically do check her sent and old mail to see if she recognizes all the screen names. I explained to both my kids that the First Amendment is overruled by parental privilege."

Other parents feel that to read their children's e-mail is equivalent to reading their diaries, an invasion of privacy -- though they may do it anyway. One mother says she was astonished at a recent parents' meeting at her daughter's school when another mother stated proudly that she read all her child's e-mails. "It was accepted as if it made perfect sense," the mother reports. "I thought it was appalling. Parents are in their children's lives too much. If you can't write a goddamned letter to a friend, what's happening to the world?"

At the Parents in Action meeting, where the malicious gossip was discussed, some of the parents were all for shutting down their kids' access to the Internet -- with the exception, of course, of letting them do school-related research on their computers. "But there's rebellion," says Victoria Goldman, the mother who attended the meeting. "The kids don't like a limit. How much is a kid going to like a curfew? And there were parents in the room who felt like they didn't have to do that. And there were yet other parents in the room who felt this was a complete bullshit nonissue."

Back at Daniel's, a new name pops up on the sixth-grader's Buddy List -- Flirtatious.

Daniel explains that she's the girlfriend of D.D., a popular boy in his class, who also happens to be online. "I know when they're both on, because they won't even answer me," Daniel says glumly.

"Watch," Daniel says, instant-messaging a question to Flirtatious, who apparently comes by her name honestly.

"Please leave me alone for fifteen minutes," she replies.

After D.D. and Flirtatious's online assignation, D.D. condescends to answer a few questions about his love life. (Unless the three of them go into a private chat room, Flirtatious doesn't know what D.D.'s telling Daniel.) Daniel calculates that D.D. picks up as many as seven screen names at the average inter-school dance. But D.D., whose modesty is apparently part of his appeal, says the number is closer to two names on a typical evening and that girls are much freer about giving out their screen names than their phone numbers.

Boys, it seems, come off better in cyberspace than they do in person, pip-squeak Cyrano de Bergeracs. "Juliet said to me, 'Oliver is a really, really interesting person online,' " one mother says, referring to a male friend of her third-grade daughter. "She said he was a jerk in real life, but online he was really nice. I thought it was interesting that kids they know have different personalities online."

Alison reports she has received instant-messaging declarations of love. But it's not the same thing as having a boy tell you he loves you in person. "It's a bigger deal," she says. "It's actually harder to say it."

When that sad day comes to break up with your paramour, the Internet would also seem to be the perfect vehicle. One mother remembers looking over her son's shoulder when he received an incoming missile from a girl with whom he'd just broken up online. "You're fat and your friends are ugly," she wrote, dispatching him and his Buddy List in one fell swoop.

Always the gentleman, however, D.D. says he always breaks up with his women in person. "It's more professional," he says.

A few months ago, my wife insisted on putting our computer in the living room, instead of in my daughter's bedroom where she wanted it. At the time, I thought she was overreacting. I no longer do. And I'm not alone. While my evidence is anecdotal, it seems that PCs, laptops, and iMacs are migrating back to family rooms such as the kitchen, where parents can look over their children's shoulders, literally, as they navigate cyberspace.

My daughter, of course, is angry about our decision. She's aware of the dangers of the online world. For instance, she doesn't go into chat rooms. "They can get your screen name and IM you," she says. But she also feels that I've violated her rights by stealing her computer. "When I got it for Christmas," she said huffily, "it said on the tag FROM SANTA TO LUCY."

I sympathize with her -- but not enough to give it back.