Dear Old Friend

Dear Old Friend,

As bizarre as it sounds, Facebook, merely a popular “social network,” has added a dimension to my life.  It’s hard to admit, as I mostly enjoy disliking anything that is too popular, like the Kardashians.  (But don’t you mess with my Dr. Phil.) Nevertheless, even in a life filled with wonderful family, good friends, and a great job, it’s warming to find a quick hello or a like to a post.  It can make the, still, sometimes lonely world a bit less so.

It was with, then, excited intentions that I contacted you, in hopes that I could add you to the list of people who throw out cyber hugs to me and to whom I reciprocate with such hugs.  So, I did.  I contacted you. 

I have memories of you.  Mostly of laughter.  Just so you know, as I now feel compelled to tell you, many people didn’t like you.  They called you a Snob and Shallow, but I didn’t find you as such.  I liked you. 

You and I and Others spent summers together in Wisconsin.  I loved these summers and I loved the people there, including you, and these summers were so wonderful and free and lovely. 

I told Another Old Friend, that I had found you on facebook and had she talked to you in recent years?  This Other Old Friend and I both contacted you at the same time.  I am quite certain that I know why you accepted her friend request and not mine.

The pictures of me and my Alternative Family Freaked You Out.  Yes, even in these days of Ellen Degenerous, Rosie O’Donnell, and Chastity Bono, you still find my “lifestyle” Vile and Disgusting.  Some may argue, “No, that’s not why she rejected you--.”  But we both know the truth, don’t we.

The world is changing and I am changing and People like You don’t have the Power to make me feel Vile and Disgusting anymore.  So don’t worry about having hurt my self-esteem.  I’m sure you’ve lost many nights’ sleep worrying about this too, but I’m officially informing you now that you can get Over It.

I want to be bigger than you and wish you a good life.  I want to say your rejection didn’t hurt.  The truth is, while I don’t wish you any harm, I also don’t necessarily wish you a good life.  This is because it did hurt.  While I’m just as valuable a human being as my straight peers, your rejection of me, due to something I can’t control, did hurt. 

Perhaps I should just cast it off as the Others were right: you are Snobby and Shallow.  I think, though, that this makes you get off too easy.  I still think these old friends were wrong: you weren’t Snobby and Shallow and this is precisely why your rejection stings.  Instead you perhaps were (and are) merely Mean Spirited and, for lack of something more creative to call you, a Bigot. 

And so, it is with Disappointment in Myself that I am Not Martin Luther King, Jr. or Mahatma Ghandi (sp?), who would instead Pray for your Fortitude (don’t know what that means, but it sounds right) that I feel compelled to forever leave you with two little words that I find necessary to utilize in times like these.

Fuck off.

Signed,

What?  Did you think I was in Love with You?  PLEASE!

The Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past

Perhaps because I’m a natural pessimist, not only am I thankful for all of the good things in my life on Thanksgiving, but I also miss people more.  I don’t just miss the family who feast hundreds of miles away.  I miss other kinds of people.  Some are Dead People.  Luckily, there’re only a couple of people in my life who matter, who’re dead.  Sometimes, however, I do miss my childhood dog, Peppy.

But for about twenty minutes each night, after I give up on the daily crossword puzzle and Bryan finishes watching some cartoon he (and I) have already memorized, I visit people in my head.  I think about people I’m close to, who I haven’t seen in a while who I’m too tired to call, and I think about the two dead people I miss.  Sometimes, Peppy.

What concerns me, however, is I miss other people also.  I miss people who are alive.  I miss childhood friends I am no longer in contact with and cousins I rarely see.  I miss former teachers and neighbors.  I miss summer camp. 

Many conversations about Facebook go something like this: “People you haven’t heard from in 20 years will contact you and you’ll have nothing to say to them.  You’ll realize there was a reason you lost touch.  You’ll correspond two or three times, only to learn if they’re married or divorced, if they’re in good or poor health,  and how many kids they have.  Then you’ll be done.  You won’t need to talk to them again.  It’s weird.”

It’s weird, but knowing that I’m even cyberly connected to people who once played such a dominant role in my life happily misleads me into thinking that the world and life make more sense than it usually seems.  I like knowing my former Chicago friends, for example, are on my facebook page, even if I don’t know what to say to them.  I like knowing that my college roommate is also there, despite the fact that life got in our way a long time ago.   I like having some sort of idea of what my cousins are up to and the kinds of things they post. 

About seven or eight years ago, I ran into an old friend from my hometown.  We were close in elementary school and later at summercamp.  I think she was a little tipsy when I ran into her.  Societal protocol dictates that a mere hello suffices.  Perhaps an “It’s good to see you,” but this would be the absolute most sentiment to express.  I think it was because of my friend’s tipsiness, however, that she actually said one of my favorite things that anyone has ever said to me, considering the circumstance.  It had been more than 20 years since I’d seen her.  Breaking all rules of engagement, this friend actually uttered, “I was just thinking of you!” 

Really?     Because I think of people all the time.  Well, for about 20 minutes each night I do.  I’m not sure why.  For the rest of the day, in between the frustrations inherent in being a bad puzzle solver who tries to solve puzzles, and a crazy teacher who tries to solve children, I like to think I spend the rest of the day grateful for the current people in my life, and the perfect little family I found. 

But I wanted to tell this friend that I think of her too, often.  That I have so many memories of her and others and that these memories play in my head like a carousel each night.  I wanted to admit my fear in trying to “befriend” her on facebook, should she ignore my request.  Should she label it as merely another friend [she] hasn’t seen in 20 years, and that once we briefly correspond, she’ll wonder why she accepted the request.  She’ll soon realize the reason we parted ways.  For this, and other reasons, she will, in fact, ignore my request.

I can’t risk that, though I have a strong hope that one day I will see a friend request from her (and the tens of others I miss). 

This Thanksgiving, I’ve determined to be less melancholy and more Zen.  Instead of longing for tangled and broken connections, I will try to be Thankful for the times when the ropes weren’t knotted or tattered.  I suppose some friendships die and many people don’t want their ghosts around, like I do.