I’m sitting in the study having a look at Facebook. It’s about half past eight. I’m due to pick up the Girlchild, who turns eighteen in a few months, from the Pho Cafe in Scarysuburb, where she’s having a cheap and cheerful Vietnamese nosh with some friends – some of whom are eighteen.
Those friends, of course, may be served alcoholic drinks on licenced premises (in moderation: amirite?) Girlchild may not.
I am on the old desktop Mac. Girlchild, having torn up the first Year 12 semester like a champion, has just got a new raspberry, or red Nokia phone, from Dad. So she can facebook on the fly.
Girlchild: “really likes this resturant, essspecially the cocktails”. (Spelling! Tssk!)
So Girlchild gets a call. “I’m coming to pick you up! RIGHT NOW! I think you know why!1!!1!
When I get to the Pho Cafe there’s Girlchild and a couple of others hanging out in front looking a bit sheepish. We drive home. I lecture, Girlchild accepts lecture with relatively good grace. Of course, I only get this Teachable Moment once; now they know what not to post about on Facebook. We watch a DVD of Ghost Town. All is amicable.
Before bed I check Facebook again, and I see
Friend: “what did your mum say?”
Girlchild: “- – *sigh*”
So of course I typed
And my friend Megan weighs in with
“oops-don’t facebook and drink at the same time.”
Megan lives in Vancouver. We haven’t spoken face to face in fifteen years, but she is family.
It takes a global village to raise a child.