I’m starting to wonder something.
I wonder if facebook is like a Super-Vac. I’m wondering if it’s been the daily stresses, confinements, distractions that have lured me away from my art, books, daydreaming….and if instead, hours a spent on facebook.
I seriously think this may be a problem. The other day I was talking with a good friend, and I confided in her that I was seriously considering quitting facebook. It’s almost like confessing that you’re about to go to AA “you see here…I have this problem…” – but instead it’s with some social network that steals all our information and sells it to advertising companies, can let you see your ex’ wedding pictures, or forces you to see people rant about stuff that you just don’t care about.
She said this:
“A girl from my community group said that facebook is either bragging or complaining. If she posts a picture of her happy with her husband and beautiful kids picking berries…it will (or may) be bragging – especially to let’s say, her close friend who’s entering into a divorce. ‘How am I suppose to post a caring comment on my friend’s wall with true sympathy when I post how great my life is two seconds after'”?
Good question. Huh.
What is kind of brutal is that I see this happen all the time. I seriously can out-count the amount of facebook posts that involve some kind of action that is indirectly (or directly, which makes me cringe) a form of bragging. BIG TIME bragging. Or, a form of complaining. Tonight I saw something for the first time that wasn’t this: A daughter thanking her Mom for being a great mom – and the mother responded with love and support. How rad. I loved seeing that. The rest of what I’m seeing is 98% of stuff I can do without.
When I think back to before facebook was on my computer, I was certainly on myspace. There. I said it. (but so was everyone else right? right?) But ok. BEORE that.
and all of a sudden I remember. I remember what I did. I remember I was of course younger (so maybe a bit more carefree)…but life was different.
The other day I had duty in a cafeteria. I walked, slowly, and scanned the room as most efficiently as a I could. I felt odd. “I am an adult!” I say to myself. Kids don’t seem to have a care that I’m an adult, because SnackPacks are just way more interesting.
Touche. Those SnackPacks.
I notice that I’m joined with two other teachers who are one “duty”. One an elementary teacher, the other the janitor. The lunch lady works behind the steel countertops, pots and pants. The checkout lady rings up students cards, but now the hurried-ness of little bodies running around lessens. It’s loud, but every child is sitting down. Only with a quick hand gesture will they give me two different signs, one for the bathroom, one for “seconds” from the fruit and veggie cart.
At some point I notice him. He is tall and older, probably 6’3″ when he stands, white hair, broad shoulders, and casual-teacher-attire. He walks to the lunch line, gets his lunch, and towering above the other students sits down. I honestly don’t even know how his body fit. Do you know how small those cafeteria benches are? small. trust me. However, he somehow sinched his body between the tabletop and the seat. And there he was.
Students sat with him. He ate. They ate. Every now and then someone would talk, or instead, somewhat stare into the distance of loud and booming noises of laughter, pots and pans clanging, or the janitors sweeping. Thoughts of the playground. Thoughts of lesson plans. It seems almost that their thoughts became intertwined, and even though his height separated him apart, he was apart of them just as much.
The thing is, I don’t see this happen often. Maybe he forgot his lunch. Maybe this is a regular thing he does- but usually, teachers don’t sit with their kids. Usually they say that your lunch time is the only time you get to talk to adults. Looks like someone didn’t buy into that.
And for that, I am grateful.