The notification arrived while I was having coffee: my friend’s mother had commented on a bikini photo from 2015. “Beautiful as always sweetie! Though you might want to cover up more. Love, Mom.” Six years deep in the timeline, she’d gone excavating through old posts like an archaeologist of embarrassment, leaving public comments on ancient history. My friend texted me immediately: “I’m going to have to delete my entire Facebook.”

Facebook, once the cool kid platform that required a college email address, has transformed into something unrecognizable to its earliest users. It’s become a digital town square where Boomers have set up permanent residence, decorating it with motivational quotes, political memes, and public displays of affection that make their children want to witness protection themselves into new identities.

The platform now hosts a fascinating collision of digital natives and digital immigrants, each group operating by completely different social codes. What Boomers see as connection and care, their children experience as privacy invasion and social mortification. These aren’t just quirky online habits—they’re fundamental misunderstandings about how digital spaces work, what constitutes appropriate sharing, and where the boundaries of family end and individual identity begins.

1. The archaeological dig through old photos

Somewhere around 2019, Boomers discovered they could scroll backwards through time on their children’s profiles. Now they’re on year 2008, commenting on college photos with helpful observations like “Is that a beer???” and “Who is that boy with his arm around you?” Each comment sends a notification not just to their child but to everyone tagged in the photo—college roommates who are now VPs, ex-boyfriends who are now married, random party acquaintances who forgot this photo existed.

The comments arrive in waves, a digital archaeology expedition nobody asked for. “You look thin here!” on a photo from 2011. “Why don’t you wear your hair like this anymore?” on a 2009 profile picture. Each observation perfectly innocent in intent, devastating in impact. Their children watch in horror as professional contacts receive notifications about mom’s commentary on their 2010 spring break photos.

What Boomers don’t grasp is that Facebook photos aren’t a family album—they’re nodes in a living network. Commenting on a 2010 photo doesn’t just revisit the past; it resurrects it in everyone’s present-day newsfeed. Every tagged person gets a notification, every mutual friend sees the activity. The platform treats a comment on a decade-old photo exactly like breaking news, broadcasting mom’s “Who is that boy???” to people who’ve long since moved on with their lives.

2. The public conversation that should be private

“Call me.” Posted on their daughter’s wall. “We need to talk about your father’s surgery.” Shared as a status update on their son’s timeline. “Did you get my voicemail about grandma?” As a comment under an unrelated post about a concert. Boomers have turned Facebook walls into family bulletin boards, conducting private business in the digital equivalent of Times Square.

They tag their children in posts about colonoscopy results. They share medical updates in birthday wishes. They discuss inheritance planning in comments under vacation photos. For them, Facebook is family space, and family space is where you discuss family business. The concept of a “public wall” versus a “private message” remains mysteriously elusive, despite repeated explanations.

Adult children have tried everything: detailed tutorials, written instructions, dramatic reenactments of public versus private. Yet still the messages come, broadcast to hundreds of connections. “Your cousin’s divorce is final” sits between a meme about wine and a photo from a work event, visible to bosses, exes, and that person from high school who’s somehow still on the friends list.

3. The emotional support clickbait

Every morning brings a fresh harvest: sunsets with “Share if you believe in God, scroll if you don’t.” Puppies with “I know 97% of you won’t share this.” Pixelated roses declaring “It’s National Daughter Day! I’m proud of mine! Let’s see how many mothers are brave enough to share!” Boomers interact with these posts like they’re legally binding, sharing them with the dedication of someone fulfilling a blood oath.

Their children scroll through feeds now clogged with “Only my REAL friends will share this” and “Cancer is bad. Share if you agree.” Each post a small hostage situation: share to prove you care, or ignore and risk the guilt. The Boomer Facebook feed has become an endless chain letter, each share spawning more shares in an exponential growth of digital emotional labor.

The fascinating part is the sincerity. When Boomers share “Type Amen if you love Jesus, ignore if you love Satan,” they’re not being ironic. They’ve imported the social dynamics of email forwards from 2003 directly into 2024 Facebook, unaware that the platform’s culture has evolved beyond recognition. They’re playing by rules from a different internet, one where forwarding meant caring.

4. The profile photo enthusiasm that knows no bounds

A distant relative changes their profile picture. Within minutes: “Gorgeous!” “Stunning!” “Beautiful lady!” “Looking good!” The comments pile up like a receiving line at a wedding, each Boomer seemingly obligated to acknowledge every photo change with public praise. They’ve turned profile picture updates into events requiring formal acknowledgment.

The enthusiasm scales regardless of photo quality or content. Blurry selfie taken in bad lighting? “Absolutely beautiful!” Photo where they’re barely visible in the background? “Stunning as always!” They comment with the reliability of an automated system but the enthusiasm of a grandmother at a kindergarten play.

Meanwhile, their children operate by different rules entirely. A profile picture change might get a like, maybe a fire emoji from a close friend. The generational divide isn’t about caring—it’s about expression. Boomers treat every photo like it’s wallet-sized and handed to them personally. Their kids understand that profile pictures are utilitarian updates, not requests for validation.

5. The oversharing of medical journeys

“Having my procedure tomorrow. Pray the polyps aren’t cancerous!” Posted publicly, tagged at the medical center, with a selfie in a hospital gown. Boomers have turned Facebook into a medical journal, documenting every appointment, procedure, and pharmaceutical adventure with the thoroughness of a clinical trial.

They post pre-op photos. They share post-surgery recovery updates with graphic detail. They create albums titled “My Hip Replacement Journey” with 47 photos of surgical scars and physical therapy sessions. They check in at oncology centers, cardiology offices, and colonoscopy clinics like they’re trendy restaurants.

For adult children, watching their parents’ medical updates go viral among church friends and high school classmates creates a specific type of anxiety. They’ve tried explaining that not every bodily function needs documentation, that privacy settings exist, that maybe—just maybe—the details of dad’s prostate exam don’t need to be public record. But for Boomers, Facebook has replaced the waiting room conversation, and everyone on their friends list is now part of their medical support group.

6. The sphinx-like cryptic status

“Some people…” “Disappointed.” “God knows the truth.” “Praying for answers.” These status updates drop like bombs into the newsfeed, providing no context, no details, just ominous fragments that send their children into panic spirals. The vague-booking that millennials perfected in 2009 has been adopted and weaponized by Boomers who don’t understand its social function.

Within minutes, the comments begin. “What’s wrong hun?” “Praying for you!” “Call if you need to talk!” The original poster responds with more cryptic fragments: “I can’t say right now.” “You know who you are.” “Time will tell.” Their children, watching from afar, frantically text siblings: “What’s mom talking about?? Is dad okay?? Did someone die??”

Nine times out of ten, the crisis reveals itself as beautifully mundane: the hairdresser was booked solid, someone took their parking spot at church, or Walmart discontinued their favorite coffee creamer. Last week a friend’s mother posted “Betrayed by someone I trusted” and the family group chat went into overdrive—turned out her book club changed their meeting day without consulting her. They’ve learned that mystery generates engagement but haven’t grasped that it also generates genuine anxiety in people who care about them.

Final thoughts

These Facebook behaviors that horrify younger generations aren’t really about technology illiteracy or stubborn resistance to change. They’re about fundamentally different understandings of what social media is for. Boomers brought their analog social habits into digital spaces wholesale—the family photo albums, the coffee klatch conversations, the prayer circles and medical waiting room chatter. They’re using Facebook like it’s a small town where everyone knows everyone and privacy is an illusion anyway.

Their children, who came of age alongside these platforms, understand them differently. They know that Facebook isn’t a private family room but a public square with invisible audiences. They’ve learned through hard experience that the internet is forever, that contexts collapse, that professional and personal must be carefully separated.

The tragedy is that both groups want the same thing: connection, care, and community. But they’re speaking separate languages, operating by incompatible rules, understanding privacy and propriety through completely opposing lenses. The Boomer who comments on old photos thinks they’re showing love. Their child, watching professional contacts get notifications about mom’s observations on their college years, experiences it as sabotage.

Maybe the real lesson isn’t that Boomers need to stop these behaviors, but that platforms designed by 20-somethings for 20-somethings were never going to age gracefully. Facebook became a different place when our parents joined, not because they’re using it wrong, but because they’re using it exactly as the interface suggests—as a place to share, connect, and maintain relationships. The horror their children feel isn’t really about the behaviors themselves, but about the collision of two different digital worlds that were never meant to overlap.

They’re not on the wrong platform—we’re just sharing it uncomfortably