The Facebook Friend Project

I have an idea. The phenomenon that is Facebook is sort of weird. You add friends that you know and people that you don't...really. I have 121 friends on my list as of right now. I will be re-evaluating this list for this project. What would happen if I send a personal note to each and every person on my list? Certainly, there is a way to note how you know each person, but what if you really dig down, and make a personal connection? That's the goal of this project. Look at your own list. Right now. Today. Who are the people on it? Why are they there? One friend just said the other day that he is close to 200 connections, then noticed that people who have been in his life forever are just a number. Others he has met and talked to thru Facebook, just in the last couple of months, have become friends who really matter. That made me start thinking. And the Facebook Friend Project was born.

Here's the plan. If you are on my Facebook Friend list, you will be receiving a personal note from me thru Facebook. It will begin with a link to this page, an introduction if you will, and then a personal note as to how I know you, why I appreciate you, perhaps a memory...something that connects me to you. It may be a story, a paragraph, only a few sentences. It may be offensive (tho that is not my intent,) uplifting, personal, professional...but ALWAYS honest. I would love to hear back from you. I may not.

Lastly, I have decided to post here, on my blog, the story of my life...each note I write. I think it will be interesting to see how this turns out. I expect it to go in 121 different directions! Here We Go!

The Worst Punishment Ever

One hot, summer day, one of the errands on the agenda was to get rid of a couch. I was just a child, so my mom and dad loaded the couch on the back of the blue pickup truck and we went to pick up my mom's friend. The truck had jumpseats behind the front bench seat, and every seat was taken. Of the eight kids between both families, maybe four were in the truck. My mom, her friend, myself, and at least three others-maybe more.

We went to the town dump, which felt like it was in the next state. Further and further from civilization, on back roads and through the woods. We turned off the road, and went to notify the trash masters that we had a couch to dump. We drove to the back side of the dump and backed the truck up to the hole. My mother and her friend got out of the truck and struggled to unload the couch.

To pass the time, I got the bright idea to go through my mom's friend's purse. I pawed through, and finding nothing of any interest, I put it back where it was. After several minutes, my mom and her friend got back into the truck. Hot, sweaty, and irritated, because she skinned her shin, my mom pulled out of the dump and we went to get ice cream.

"Mom, David went through your purse while you were out of the truck." Damn kids, tattled on me, and I got it from my mom.

"Why?! Would you go through someone's purse?" my mom asked.

"I don't know, I was bored." I answered.

"When we get to the ice cream shop, everyone gets ice cream, except you." This was the punishment she doled out and, I think that the only reason for this sentence was because she couldn't reach me for a spanking in a truck full of people.

Through the woods, on back roads, and back into civilization, we finally got to the ice cream shop. I got in line and placed my order. "I'll have a large twist cone, please."

"Wait a minute, you don't get any ice cream!" my mom said. I got caught again! I almost pulled it off, but she remembered just in time and sent me back to the truck. I stomped back to the truck and fumed. I thought that the tattler should be punished, too. After all, isn't tattling a bad thing? I was always told not to tell on people. Apparently, no one else was.

Ultimately, I learned my lesson. My wife used to say, "In my purse..." and I stopped her and said, "Hold on, let me bring it to you." Once, just a couple years ago, I was at work leaning over a cubicle wall, talking to a co-worker. I looked down on her desk and saw a keychain. It was a patch from the Ohio State Highway Patrol. I grabbed it to look closer, and realized almost immediately what I had done.

"Oh my God," I said, "I'm so sorry, I just reached into your purse and pulled out your keys! I know better than that." I told her the story of going through my mom's friend's purse, and offered my mother's email address. After all, I was tattled on before.

To this day, I do not go through a woman's purse. With the exception of one slip up, I have never been in a purse since I was a kid. I value ice cream too much. While I agree with corporal punishment, I believe that this punishment was absolutely the most effective of my childhood-and the worst.

I think I'm going to find some ice cream now!