My 8-year-old daughter, Ariel, had a serious case of igloo envy. “You should see my friend Michael’s igloo,” she said. “He’s got two dance mats, a plasma TV, a lava lamp, a beanbag chair, and a weight bench.” Ariel’s, by comparison, was nearly bare. “All I have is a chair made out of a tree stump, a floor mat, and a birthday banner.”
“Work hard and save your money,” I advised. And, in no time at all, she squirreled away enough cash for a pommel horse, a stereo, and a basketball hoop. Then she moved from a basic igloo to a split-level model. Eventually, she hopes to ditch the snow structure and trade up to an abode with hardwood floors and a gym. In the meantime, she’s very much the girl about town.“I’m going to meet Jenna at the nightclub,” she tells me.
“That’s fine. Just make sure your homework is done.” Ariel is one of millions of kids enjoying virtual life on Club Penguin, a social networking site for tweens. It’s kind of like MySpace for the monkey bar crowd, but instead of blogging and listing your favorite bands, you’re an animated penguin that can interact with other flightless avatars in a virtual arctic world.
Once registered, your penguin is free to roam the tundra, schmooze with other penguins, and participate in real-time games. Ariel likes to hang out in the ski lodge and play Connect Four. Each time she plays, she earns coins that can be used to spruce up her igloo or buy new threads. She can also use the money to send cheery postcards to other players or adopt a virtual pet known as a puffle.
After Ariel had been on Club Penguin for about a month, my 5-year-old son, Henry, began clamoring for an account. Within days he was whizzing around the site like Chilly Willy on Red Bull. I gave him my speech about financial restraint, but he wasn’t buying it. For Henry, more was definitely more. “I’ve got five exercise balls, a clock, two spiderwebs, a giant candy cane, a toy train, a wood crate, and a floor mat,” he reported gleefully. Then, one fateful day, while his sister was at school, I let Henry play Club Penguin on his own. What a mistake. Unbeknownst to anyone, he signed off his own account and logged on as Ariel.
“All my money is gone, and there’s a fireplace in my igloo,” Ariel screamed when she logged back on.
“Oh, yeah,” Henry said. “I bought that for you today.”
Ariel dissolved into tears.
“I’ve been saving up forever to buy a flatscreen television,” she sobbed. “Now I’ll have to start all over again.”
This led to a long conversation with Henry about stealing. Since it was only virtual theft, we didn’t ground him. But we told him he’d have to earn back all the coins he spent from his sister’s account before he could play with his own penguin again.
Problem solved. Or so I thought. Less than a week later, there was another incident.
“Why is there a black puffle named Fax Machine in my igloo?” Ariel demanded.
“Marta let me buy it,” Henry said without a trace of guilt. Marta is our babysitter. I guess I forgot to warn her about Henry’s earlier infraction.
Tears ensued. Punches flew. In the end, Henry lost his computer privileges for a week. But he seems to have learned his lesson. Now that he’s back online, he’s shopping more judiciously. “I could buy a lamp,” he tells me, “but I’m saving up because I want my own puffle.”
Ariel has grown from the experience, too. “That’s not the puffle I would have bought,” she says. “But he’s mine now, and I have to take care of him.” That means ponying up for puffle chow, playing with him regularly, and ensuring he gets enough rest. “If I don’t, he’ll run away,” she says. Ariel didn’t ask for Fax Machine. And maybe she wasn’t ready for the responsibility. But, like her brother, he’s family now.
— Dawn Margolis
credit: Nick Dewar
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Puffle Kerfuffle
