Veni, Vidi, Wi-Fi: A father discovers his role is a lot like a librarian's

With serious trepidation, I entered my 15-year-old son's room. Would he be doing his homework, as promised?

The good news: he was researching his paper on the history of the Roman Empire, following a Roman road of inquiry on the Internet. The bad news: he seemed to be treating all Web sites as equally reliable. And he was also watching an unintelligible stream of stock prices, toggling back and forth on Facebook, banishing unwanted ads for underwear, tapping his foot to a snappy song, reviewing his lines for the school production of Guys and Dolls, and sending a text message on his cell phone.

I heaved a sigh. Time to remind him that his impressive digital acrobatics were useless without the ability to discern what information he really needs, what sources he can really trust. Besides, all those competing distractions weren't helping him find the facts he'd need for a good paper—let alone to find the centered, focused place in himself he'd need for a happy life.

But he spoke first. Still surfing the computer, banishing ads, checking his lines, sending text messages, and tapping to the beat, he said, "Hi, Dad. What's up?"

I started to speak, when he cut me off. "Can this be quick?" he asked. "I'm trying to concentrate."

The Roman road to hell, I decided right then and there, is paved with distractions.

Long ago, I believed that the job of a parent boiled down to providing vast quantities of three essential gifts: hugs, books, and food.

Now, I'm convinced, we must provide a fourth gift: the ability to discern between meaningless, distracting data and useful, affirming knowledge. To know the difference between solid research, Info Lite, and Info Wrong. To be a critical reader, someone who sees the huge gulf between trivia that tickles a momentary urge and wisdom that guides a life. In this way, the job of a parent is a lot like the job of a library media specialist.

The world offers our children a wondrous, endlessly varied feast of knowledge, ideas, and questions. But it also offers them a slew of informational candy bars—tasty treats with no lasting nutritional value. Or worse, sugar-coated poisons in the form of excessive violence, degrading language, intolerance, and hatred. So how do we help young people find sources of lasting nutritional value? To know the difference between junk food and a real meal?

Certainly not by censorship. (I've seen some of those horrors up close when my books have been banned because of objections to "magic.") And not by anointing some sources of information as utterly infallible.

No, the real answer lies in helping them to develop the skills required to sift, understand, evaluate, and prioritize information. Rather than try to keep children from ever being exposed to meaningless or destructive material—a guaranteed failure—we need to help them gain the ability to judge for themselves.

On that day, I sat down with my son. I started by asking him to show me how some of his favorite information portals actually work. Then I asked a lot of questions: Why is that ad for a video game so violent? Who gains from that, and who gets hurt? Why are the stories by that author so much fun? Do they also give you something to think about? Can you define beauty? What is the difference between a hero and a celebrity?

And, oh yes... what are the most reliable sources for a paper on the Roman Empire?