I discovered the Internet nine years ago. It was truly magical. It still is. The immediate information and sense of connection made me feel almost famous. I created my first Facebook profile when I was 12 years old. The most exciting part was the customization. Customization is what I lived for. I created my account and filled out all my information as quickly as I could. There are a billion photos of me on my dad's computer, so I chose the one of ice skating with my brother. Birthday? January 19**. Parents? I typed my father's name. Brothers? Then my brother. Religious opinions? School? Hometown? Movie Spouse School Email Address Workplace... It felt so good to express myself without much effort. Who has time to write a song or paint a portrait anyway? It all felt so good to be…connected. And sure, as a child you would have sat through a series of boring lectures over the years while the principal's voice droned on about sharing your personal information on such dangerous, even deadly kidnapping sites. Everyone around you was posting about how boring it was on their phones. But if everyone posted their "personal" information, there would be such a small chance of me getting kidnapped, so why worry? Everyone does it. They're all still here and breathing, so I think I'll be fine. In any case I was too old to be kidnapped. Not to mention, your phone number is not "personal information." Your social security number is, and I'm smart enough not to publish it. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay It's been a long time since 2009. Huh. What do you know? I wasn't kidnapped after all. I've never met anyone who was either, and I'm already in high school. Posting contact information isn't as big of a deal as parents and teachers think. In any case I no longer post anything on Facebook. I mean, if you click on "my photos" you'll still see 22 albums from church camp trips, second half of junior year, and photos of my brother, but the only reason I still use Facebook is to find the date of the next youth scholarship car wash or work on the group project due next Tuesday on the symbolism of the color white in The Scarlet Letter. Harmless. Then I got the phone call. I pulled up to Ryan's driveway and parked the car. After taking off my seatbelt, a techno pop beat blared from the cup holder to my right. "Go inside, I'll meet you there." "Are you sure?" “Yeah, no, apparently I have a phone call.” See you inside." "Unknown number." I wonder who I know who keeps their caller ID private now. Hmm. Maybe it's a wrong number. It's probably a wrong number. I press the green image of a phone. "Hello?" “Emily, I'm…” He didn't need to finish. I knew from the first syllable. My tongue felt heavy relieved at the same time. At this point I was no longer looking at the interior of my father's 2011 Honda Fit. I saw the walls of my second address in front of me, which today are up to 8. I was in the living room on the first floor, I was coloring while he was watching TV. Then he was changing the light bulb and smoking a cigarette. There were many memories that I hadn't thought about in a long time. This was all seven houses ago unrelated ago. I haven't seen Uncle Mike in a long, long time. What connections do we have anymore? How could I tell my uncle that I wasn'tinterested in talking to him? He told me about his work. He works at a small bike shop where we lived. I think I might remember that. It was on the main road through Hampton Bays. It's cute, I guess. He also had a little dog: Bandit. He said it was all he lived for anymore. That and me. But you know, no pressure, right? I remember how Uncle Mike would get up with me in the morning before school to make me breakfast because he was the only one who did. Those were probably the best eggs I've ever eaten. I'm pretty sure he built the old swing outside of Beachdale, too. I spent a lot of time on that swing. Uncle Mike has done so many good things for me that I will never be able to repay. Even if we had still talked, I wouldn't have been able to give him what he gave me. Then I remembered the worms in the fridge after he reluctantly left, years later. They were all in the same kitchen where we ate. I remember when we found a bag of white powder behind the sofa. I remember the restraining order (no longer in effect) for me and my mother because he and my mother were not best friends. Most of all, I remember when he came back from prison only to live in the woods across from where we go shopping. There was still an almost intact bedroom waiting for him. He was happier living with a group of "friends" in the woods than at my grandmother's house. Maybe he was just avoiding conflict. Maybe he wanted to carry out his illegal activities in peace, who knows? At that time. The question remained. How did he find me? Where did you get my number from? He doesn't have Facebook. He doesn't even know what Facebook is. But he has friends who do. Friends who were once also my friends and who still live in the eternal world that lives online. How incredibly stupid could I be to put my phone number out there for the world to see? And you know, if I had never gotten that call, it would still be there to this day, guaranteed. I just got out of that family mess, can't go back now. I mean, don't get me wrong. all those experiences made me who I am today and all that good crap, but I know it has to stop now. So my dad had a long conversation with Uncle Mike. I sat at the kitchen table and listened to the phone conversation taking place in a bedroom not far away. Then we changed my phone number. It took a few months before everyone knew again. A week earlier I would have said to look for him on Facebook. He would have everything sorted out in a matter of hours. However, then I deleted every Facebook post I made and made myself unavailable on social media. It was only then, in seventh grade, that I realized that all those lessons, all the speeches and assemblies, weren't just about online perverts and predators. And it really doesn't matter what age you are for something to go wrong on the Internet. Ugh, it was all so corny after school special but so much more important because that's TV and that's real life and TV shows can't always change who you are like reality does. How many episodes of Law and Order have I seen about someone getting hurt because of something they posted online? Too many to count. They never stopped me. I'm glad I know all these important cheesy lessons now, it just sucks that it took me as long as it took to learn them. Please note: this is just an example. Get a custom paper from our expert writers now. Get a Custom Essay So the Internet can be dangerous, who knew? I actually knew it. I just didn't know how. I'm sure I still probably make mistakes posting things online today. I don't post anything illegal or obscene or anything, but who knows? Maybe I expressed an unpleasant opinion for a..