Trust Your Child

Little Notes

I liked high school probably a little bit more than most people. I spent the first 3 years super awkward, mostly focused on dealing with an undiagnosed OCD, taking Accutane and playing sports, while my Senior year was, when pimples disappeared, I did the morning announcements and I lost some weight, a much better time. For someone who would later deal with a lot of depression, I have to admit, I got out of high school relatively unscathed.

But I also don’t really keep in touch with anyone from my alma mater. Not for any reason really, I think I just connected stronger with people I met later in life. I went to my 10-year high school reunion a few years ago, and I still consider it one of the shittiest experiences of my life. Harsh words, yes, but it just kinda felt weird. Outside of about 5 people, I sort of look at it as “times past,” and I’m totally fine/healthy about that. I’d love to run into someone, hug them, catch up and leave within 5 minutes. Not stay in a dining hall for 3 hours and get shitfaced (also there was no food and I get crabby when I’m hungry). It’s probably how Mark Whalberg looks at his time in the Funky Bunch. In no way do I hate anyone I went to high school with, but I’m sure we’re all doing well on our own. Good luck, guys!

With the invention of Facebook and Twitter, it’s definitely a lot different for us than it was for our parents though. Me saying I don’t really talk to anyone from my high school is true, but at the same time I basically know what EVERYONE from my high school is doing. Even if I don’t want to. No offense to hometowners on my FB Timeline, but I know more about your baby than your Pediatrician. And I’m not mad. At All. It’s just different and the way the world works in the 21st century. I was pretty nonchalant about it, until last week.

I’ve been telling jokes on Twitter for a few years now, and recently synched it up to my Facebook account. I’m not a HUGE fan of Facebook and figured since I neglect my account a lot, this would be a good way to keep something going on it. As a fan of validation, it always felt nice to see some of those high school names either “like” one of my jokes or comment on them. No matter how obscure the name, I always unironically smile, happy I may have made someone from my past, with a similar background, laugh. And every once in awhile, I get a really sweet message from someone about my posts, or something comedic I did.

I remember Nicole Russell from middle school. I don’t remember a ton, but I remember having classes with her and she was a really nice. I haven’t seen her since high school though. She is however, one of the 993 friends I have on Facebook. She’s one of the handful of people who had “liked” a joke or two and, every once in awhile, left a comment to either expand on a joke or say something sweet. I had seen her new last name, so I knew she was married and she was working at a website that I believe was an insurance company. In this weird world of the Internet, that’s friends I think.

Especially when back in April, she sent me a really nice note letting me know that I was making her laugh, both with the my status updates and my old music as Hot Karl. I remember being really appreciative, and sending her back a quick note of thanks (and in my Jewish neurotic way, prefacing Hot Karl). I’d look out for “likes” from her, and was thankful someone was reading my stupid jokes, even though we had no real connection in the traditional sense of friendship.

When I was on Howard Stern last month, she was one of the only Facebook messages I got, and I was stoked to get it. Someone being genuinely happy for you is rare. And when it’s someone you haven’t seen in 15 years, and don’t truly remember everything about, it means even more. This person just wanted to thank you, or acknowledge something you did, and that really says something about them. These little notes, that take 3 seconds to write, mean a lot. I know this now.

Nicole passed away on December 28th and I learned about it on Facebook. Less than a month after her last message to me, I read a post from her husband, letting everyone know where the services were being held, and honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I was devastated. The 2011 definition of friendship doesn’t make this easy. Were we friends? It hurt like she was a friend. So yes? We weren’t even really friends in high school. But these little notes, they sort of haunt me a little now. From reading some wall posts left on her page after she passed away, it seems she had reached out to a lot of people on Facebook over the last year, and it meant a great deal to them too. They were her friends too.

I didn’t go to the service, but I did dedicate a lot of my thoughts to her and her family on the day of the funeral. I don’t know really how to mourn someone in this Internet age, but I do know we were some sort of 2012 friends. Those notes meant something to me. I thank(ed) her for them. Those notes are gone now. Just gone. She won’t like another joke. No real explanation, no follow-up, cause even with all that, we weren’t really “friends.” I would’ve known a lot about her life if I ran into her on the street, but we would never set up that meeting. I can’t regret that, or second guess it all. That’s what life is now. It’s something that is plaguing me, but I know I’m mourning either way.

I guess we all have to get used to this. Distant friends, close tragedies. This post has very little direction, I know, but her death has me questioning the closeness of the Internet and what all this shit means. I barely understand Facebook, but I’m starting to get it. Sure it’s kind of too personal, and a bit of an overshare, but this is our world. Keep connected, even from afar, cause it all means something - the good, and the bad. All from watching a timeline, but not actually living it with them. As I continue to try and define it, I know I’ll be letting people know, even with a one sentence note, that I appreciate them. Even if they don’t remember everything about me. Cause it made me smile, then hurt. Crazy to think I can’t get someone out of my mind, who wasn’t in it for so long.