The closer I get
to 50, the more I find myself reminiscing about the way things used to be and
this freaks me out a little because I think that’s what old people do. Nonetheless, I find my mind wandering back to
those summer vacations that were 3 glorious months long. Three months of climbing trees and riding
bikes; of cartwheels and swing sets; of granny beads and black feet; of braided
hair and brown skin. I remember, playing
outside on summer evenings, running barefoot and chasing lightening bugs while
the grown-ups sat on the front porch fanning themselves, sipping sweet tea or
something stronger. Sometimes my dad
would play guitar and we’d sing.
Sometimes it was about arguing politics and religion. Friends and
neighbors used to like getting my grandfather riled up about something that
they didn't even necessarily believe just because they loved the show. I
must have inherited my passion from him, because like that wiry little Irishman,
I believe what I believe from the nuclear reactor-like core of my being. “Don't
make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry." In spite of this, I also inherited my
father's skills of diplomacy and ability to diffuse someone’s explosive words
with a sense of humor. So I'm pretty docile most of the time.
I also find myself digging through
old pictures and thinking about how much those photos mean to me and how little
anyone outside of my bubble would really care…kind of like back in the day when
people forced you to look at their vacation pictures or worse yet, their slide
shows. At least in slide shows and home movies it was dark and you could nod
off for minutes at a time before anyone noticed. “…and here’s Marjory in front of the world’s
biggest ball of ear wax!” Even as a kid I sensed that the intention was to
capture a piece of whatever emotion the photographer felt for the subject of
the photo and to superimpose that feeling onto the viewer. It never worked. Those are moments that you capture for yourself
and are not really transferable. In our
family, our stunning school portraits hung in a very prominent spot in the
house so unfortunately, you couldn’t miss those seven smirking faces if you tried. They were hung in one big grouping--a Home
Interior term, but minus the amber sconces-- and looked a bit like someone had
mounted the heads of the Seven Dwarfs on our living room wall. And then there are the old Polaroids of prom
and babies with the chicken pox and every Christmas tree we ever had even
though they all looked the same. I’m
sure those photos were passed around on the front porch to anyone who couldn’t
get away fast enough and that only the copies sent to my grandma in Indiana
were appreciated because that provided
her with a glimpse of her grandkids growing up so far away. My Grandma Zion was a very cool lady and she
had quite a sense of humor. She and my parents would mail crazy stuff back and
forth to each other. Once when my grandma complained that none of us had
written, a family portrait was made with everyone’s arms in slings and mailed
to her as proof that we were all completely incapacitated and therefore
couldn’t write. We found this hilarious
and quite clever, but were probably the only ones who did.
But anyway, back on the front porch,
it didn’t matter what kind of political razzing you had to endure or how many
hideous school photos you had to look at, or even what kind of gossip was being
spun, everybody was always a pretty good sport.
Okay, so you see where this is
going, right? Facebook is the new front
porch. We kick back and "talk" about things that matter most to us
and by doing so we reveal chinks in our armor, expose our Achilles heels or
just plain ole paint big targets on our chests.
We are passionate about our politics and religion—the religion of
politics and the politics of religion.
We get enraged when others are too blind to believe what we perceive to
be the undeniable truth. We each know
beyond certainty that our children are the cutest and smartest on the face of
the earth, and we offer up the photographic evidence to prove it! We spread gossip in the form of prayer
requests and little snippets of info that are just enough to whet someone’s
curiosity. We post music videos or quote
lyrics, sometimes as a cryptic message to that certain someone, but more often
just as a cyber sing-along.
Front porch or no front porch, we are wired to
crave the togetherness of community. Maybe
it started with cave drawings and oral history told around the fire at night,
where some guy named Ug ticked everybody off by lying about the size of his
wooly mammoth like anyone wanted to hear about that! But as bad as it can get, people always have
and always will keep coming back for more.
We need each other in a way none of us fully understands or we wouldn’t
be on here.
Our cyber-selves have personalities
that can be mirrors, but frequently bolder versions of our flesh and blood
selves are displayed amplified in this bully pulpit to ensure that we are heard. At times we get a little snarky about the way
others are abusing this free canvas we splatter our lives on. And then those people get a little snarky
about our snarkiness.
So in spite of the complaints that
no one wants to see your baby’s new pic of the first time they “went potty” or
your 6 year old’s first missing tooth, you’re going to post this because
grandma and Aunt Totsy are all about seeing this stuff in as close to real time
as possible and the rest of us can just scroll past it. All the goofy little quotes; all the political
and religious notions; all the inside jokes; all the memes and personal photos
expose a little about who we are. And we
should all be mindful of this and respect each other if for no other reason
than you shouldn’t stab someone where they have just intentionally made
themselves vulnerable to you in an effort to let you know them better.
So fight for what you believe in
with the intensity of 1,000 suns, but respect those who prefer the humble quiet
of the singular moon’s glow. I’m sure
there’s someone out there, but I have never heard anyone admit to hating Gandhi
or Mother Teresa, both of whom in my opinion, understood how to fight their
fights without losing compassion or degrading the value of another human
being. This is a big porch with a swing
at one end and a glider and a rocker at the other…maybe even an old recliner if
you like J…and there’s always the steps if you
don’t like being in the thick of things and need access to a quick escape. But no matter what, you are welcome here on
my front porch anytime. Now let’s chase
lightning bugs!
