You mean, you like that?
Has this happened to you?
This is me. Ninth grade? I’m not sure. Tenth maybe. I got braces in 9th, and I know I was a dancer at the time because I remember wearing that shirt over my purple unitard. But, I danced for several years and I had braces for years, so who knows? What I do know is that if you search me on Facebook, you will eventually make your way to this photo and that is something I could have lived without.
Because of Facebook, I have reconnected with a lot of people from my past in Georgia. People who save photos. I now get status updates from old high school friends who I had forgotten even existed. People whose names seem vaguely familiar but, because people age so poorly in the South, whose faces are completely foreign. I struggle to remember why Britney was so important to me and why she seems to have recorded every detail of our youth in her memory (and saved every photo) when I have absolutely no recollection of any of it.
Yet, I add them. Because there is a part of me that wants to remain connected to that part of my history, hideous as it was. I’d like to try to remember those things and people I’ve forgotten. They’re part of who I am. And, to be honest, it wasn’t all hideous.
Up until Facebook, the only former classmates I could clearly remember were the dead. Between 1986 and 1990, fourteen of my friends died. Half of those were suicides. Now, I’ve talked about the dead a lot over the years. Maybe that’s why they’re still so vivid in my mind. I remember details like what outfits I wore to the funerals and specific conversations we had. But the survivors? Nothing. Or at least, very little. Of the nearly 80 friends I have on Facebook from Fitzgerald, I truly remember maybe 20. Even better than that, I’ve had email conversations with several of the 60 whom I don’t remember.
Them: Remember that time we blah, blah, blah?
Me: Sure do! That was fun!
Them: Where was that?
Me: Oh … I know it. It’s on the tip of my tongue … don’t tell me.
Them: (Finally coming up with the answer to their own question) I know! It was __________.
Me: YES! That’s it.
It’s exhausting. Yet. I add them. Why? Because I’m curious about who I was and why I am who I am. I think it’s important for people to stay grounded in their histories. Every experience I’ve had and every person I’ve come in contact with has impacted my life and it’s important for me to remember where I come from.
Also, I’m planning to promote the blog through Facebook so the more friends the better, right? Well. The thing is, I write about these people. And not always in the most flattering light. Not that I’m making stuff up about them — They really are aging horribly. It’s astonishing. — but I don’t know if I want to get into drama with people who knew me only when I had braces and a spiral perm.
Here’s another Facebook nugget:
My main problem is that I always thought that my classmates thought the way I did. That my classmates believed that the adults in our town, the ones who insisted on segregated proms and who allowed rampant bigotry and hatred, were as awful as I thought they were. I was sure we were all just waiting for escape from Fitzgerald because we all knew that there was something better, or more exciting, or at least different from what we had.
But, now that I have access to their lives via Facebook, I realize that I was wrong. Very few of them left. And if they did, it was only to go thirty miles up the highway because life is cheaper in Wilcox County. The most frequent reaction I get when I reconnect with someone is, “You mean you LIKE city life?” I really always thought we, who were the Class of ‘88 (We’re great!), were in it together. And I write about them now because I’m just so flabbergasted. “You mean you LIKE living in the South?”
Maybe it won’t be drama. Maybe they won’t even read the blog. I already had a virtual throwdown on my Wall over that poor Miss California and gay marriage because I, through Facebook, have inadvertently connected my liberal, frequently gay friends with my Republican, rarely rational relatives. And honestly, it wasn’t so bad. It was kind of fun watching the fireworks and god knows I like to stick it to the conservatives.
June 13th, 2009 at 10:15 am
Please tell me they’ve tagged them, so I can see the Blossom hats and that weird guy from the Wonder Years.
June 14th, 2009 at 6:17 pm
Oh sweetie: I wouldn’t worry about your old pals reading your blog. As you know, I lived in the South for a while, and one thing you never had to worry about was a redneck reading TOO much!