Memory-Insufficient-spec-alt

And somehow the truth justspilled out: my dad is an internettroll.All those nights that Dad was hanging out in hisden? It turns out he was sending vile messagesto teen girls, girls my own age, maybe even girlswho I followed. He ran through burner accountsto send particularly threatening messages anonymously.I guess the threats are scarier somehowwhen they don’t have a face attached, when thereceiver knows that the sender could be anyone,anywhere. He kept a few pseudonymous accountsrunning, too, sending seemingly polite messagesat high volume that subtly undermined thereceiver’s self-esteem in little chunks at a time.He watched these girls break down publicly whiledrinking a beer after our family dinners together.Mom said that since Dad was my age, this had beenhis way of feeling connected to other people. Asmedia changed, his sense of being part of somethingbigger was made stronger. Old trolls actedalone. Back then, they acted in packs, each oneable to contribute a little piece that would add upto someone’s meltdown. Old trolls disappeared ifthey were not fed. But eventually, the trolls learnedto feed each other, to feed on the attention fromeach other and pat themselves on the back for ajob well done.Old trolls attacked forums. New trolls attackedpeople, targeting individuals on multiple platforms.I knew better than to be traceable like that. I learnedthat the hard way early on, when Dad found myfirst blog. He sent me an email with some choicequotes about people I had crushes on. “Don’t associateyour real name with stuff like that,” hesaid. “There are bad people out there.” He sentme selfies that he’d found of me, that I thoughtI’d posted under a pseudonym.