One Day, My Son, This Entire Facebook Profile Will Be Yours
“[Facebook] is set to begin rolling out a new feature called the ‘legacy contact.’ Whoever you set as that contact will be able to manage your account … after your death.” – CNET, 2/12/2015
Sit down at the desk in the study, my child, for there is a matter of great importance we must discuss.
One day, my son — my sweet, sweet boy-child — I will no longer be here for you. All men must die, and I shall die someday, too. And on that day, you will inherit a vast and great empire, representing all that I have built and constructed and fought for over my long adult life — all my connections, all my accomplishments, all that I call my own, will be passed down to you.
I am talking, of course, about my profile on Facebook.com.
My Facebook account is your birthright and your burden, your blessing and your curse. There is no greater pride I have as a father than to pass down an account on a social networking site where I artificially keep up with various acquaintances from my past who I didn’t even think I cared about anymore.
Let us log on to Facebook together now and view all that will one day be yours! Here you can see the thousands of interpersonal connections I have made in my lifetime — close friends, cherished colleagues, a guy I bought drugs from at Lollapalooza. Maintain these connections, my boy, as I would were I here today. Post on their Walls when their birthdays arrive; hit the Like button on their Statuses, no matter how vapid their observations on current events or how ugly their children turn out to be.
And now behold, my child — scion of my loins, offshoot of my essence — the totality of the Facebook account you shall inherit. Here are my invitations to play Mafia Wars: Never accept them, for that way lies madness. Here are the Pokes I have never responded to: Only reciprocate when you are certain it is proper. Here is a list of the Brands and Corporations whose Pages I have deigned to Like: Keep them in my Newsfeed, for occasionally they will offer coupons and promotions for free T-shirts.
A part of me wishes that you would leave my Facebook account as it stands now, as a monument to your father. But I know, my son — my minuscule little biscuit boy, my DNA replicant child — that you must needs transform it and make it your own. You will change my profile picture. You will accept incoming Friend requests on my behalf. You will send cryptic messages from my account to spook out your cousins when they are stoned.
Though difficult, I acknowledge the desire of a son to imprint his own vision on his deceased father’s Facebook profile. If I did not, I would bequeath my account to your mother. Or I would just delete it, because, really, who cares?
But! I wish to offer you something when I go, my little pickle lad, and so I am leaving these effects to you: My Facebook account. My Reddit karma. My 179 Twitter followers. My Ello, my Friendster, my MySpace. My Ashley Madison account. All shall be yours.
I know this has been difficult for you to hear; even now you are squirming in your chair and texting your friends about your “idiot dad and his stupid Facebook.” I am holding back tears, too! But I wanted you to see clearly, on my own laptop, all that you will inherit when your father leaves this earth.
Also, I am completely bankrupt from some poor choices I made playing Mafia Wars and don’t have any money to give you. Uh, sorry.
