I first discovered Facebook in the spring of 2006. I used the social networking site for about two years before my mother heard about it from some younger friends at her job. It wasn’t long before I received a dreaded e-mail from Facebook, alerting me to the fact that my mother had requested to be my Facebook friend. I had a decision to make: accept it, and subject myself to my mother knowing all of my business, or deny it, and have my mother nagging me all the time about why I didn’t want to be friends. So, much to my disdain, I accepted. Day after day I logged onto Facebook to see dozens of little red notification flags from my mother, commenting on how adorable my pictures are, telling me not to use inappropriate language or asking if that guy I was talking to is my boyfriend. Needless to say, having a parent as a Facebook friend, especially one who doesn’t understand the privacy issues that go along with Facebook if not used with care, is unbearably humiliating. Three years later, we’re still Facebook friends, my mom has gotten the hang of social networking, and only bothers me via Facebook to ask me to take our dogs for a walk.