Facing up to one's past -- or not

If you’ve looked for me on Facebook and have come up short, there’s a reason.

Back a year or so ago, when I signed on for the Biggest Internet Addiction Ever Invented, I wasn’t entirely sure what club I was joining. So, being wary or sneaky or chicken -- your pick -- I signed up using a fake name. Not an obviously made up name; someone might very well be sporting this moniker on their driver’s license. No, I just chose a name that has little connection to my first or either of my life’s two last names. The downside to this nom de Facebook is that nobody from my past can find me. Count that among the upsides as well.

I have had moments of curiosity of what would happen if I used my real name and posted an actual picture of myself instead of say, the Weinerschnitzel Weiner Dog. Would I be bombarded with “OMG – I haven’t talked to you in YEARS!” friend requests? Or worse, would I go totally unnoticed?

I got to experience my first ever Facebook Friend Blast From the Past just a few days ago. Through some stealthy yet efficient searching, I managed to track down one of my very best friends from grade school. I used to live next door to her and we played together all the time. We rode bikes and roller skated and played badminton and trick-or-treated. But then Kathleen’s family moved and after sporadic pre-teen attempts at keeping in touch on Hello Kitty stationery containing lots of round letters and hearts, we drifted apart. For more than 30 years, Kathleen has been limited to being a major player in some of my happiest childhood memories and the little girl I would think of every time I hear the song “Hotel California.” But now we’re back in touch, with all the appropriate “OMG!!s” and exchanges of time lines about life since Leland Way. It is beyond awesome and it makes me grateful for the wonder that is Facebook.

But then last night I got an email from a different friend. A friend I have also known since grade school but have actually stayed in touch with all along. He presented me an odd social dilemma courtesy of Facebook and its powerful search engine.

My friend had just been found by a guy both of us only vaguely remember from 7th grade. “John” wrote to my friend to apologize for causing him pain and embarrassment one afternoon in the jr. high school library. Not only did my friend not recall the supposedly embarrassing event, he couldn’t even conjure up whether or not our school actually had a library. So here is this 40 year old man who has been carrying around guilt for nearly 30 years about something that has long been forgotten. “What am I supposed to do with this?” my friend asked me. “Ignore it? Tell him ‘no sweat’?” Such a strange and awkward social situation to be forced into, to try to extend compassion and relief to someone barely remembered about an event that is as good as non-existent.

And so I am still not sure where Facebook nets out on its mission to “help you connect and share with the people in your life.” I think it is mostly cool and positive and mind-blowing. But I have decided that my curiosity about my past isn’t nearly big enough for me to ditch my cover. What happens in 7th grade should stay in 7th grade.