Today Facebook went public, and according to Conan O’Brien it happened just as the last MySpace user just went private. Mark Zuckerberg just made a few billion dollars selling off parts of his company which was built on the Timeline of your life, and all the details of which you were willing to post. For nearly a decade we have been handing over the details of our lives (read: relinquishing ownership of the details of our lives) to a group of computer programmers in Silicon Valley who through strokes of genius devised a way to monetized your life to the 115 billionth degree. Impressive.
It’s been 26 days since I “deleted” my Facebook page. Okay, so as it turns out, you can’t really delete your Facebook page. It’s impossible to do so (as far as I can tell) (Turns out you can delete it, just go here. It is now scheduled to self-destruct in 14 days.) So, I simply deactivated my account. Still residing on the mammoth servers that are Facebook are all of those pictures I posted, that friends posted (remember that one from Spring Break ’98 that you regret?), conversations about politics and religion that led to nasty exchanges and words you wish you could take back, places you checked in to complete with who was there, details of relationships gone bad, even those baby pictures your mom thought would be wonderful to throw out there… all cryogenically frozen in time on the interwebs, locked in this portal known as Facebook.
Which is a little creepy, right?
Relinquishing the rights of the life I posted on Facebook was only part of the reason for stepping away from Facebook. As Tracy and I have prepared for the immanent arrival of our daughter we have been thinking through the many implications of relinquishing the rights of our lives and now the life of our daughter to these innovative computer programmers. And in all honesty, I don’t want anyone, anywhere owning the rights to images of my daughter.
In San Francisco children are kind of like unicorns. (We boast the lowest percentage of children of any urban environment in the United States–13.2%.) It’s not uncommon to see people snapping pictures of children (that may or may not be their own) and posting them on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. In some instances these kids become their own brand of celebrity, attaining a level of notoriety that was uncommon just 10 years ago. In fact because of social media, I know an awful lot about kids I’ve never met before–the kids of friends who are scattered across the country. I don’t want to craft an online persona for my daughter, like I have done with myself, I want her to be her own person the unique person that God has created–not the person that I try and create her to be. I don’t want her to attain a level of celebrity, I don’t want the first words from people’s mouths when they meet her to be, “I feel like I already know you!” I want her to be able to surprise people with her own unique personality.
Yes, my daughter is taking me away from Facebook. But hidden not so subtly throughout my reasoning is the reality that we craft an image of ourselves online that is not really who we are in real life. We post the highlights of our lives online for all to see and revel in our amazingness, our opportunities, the “famous” we get to meet/see and have our pictures taken with, our achievements and awards. The person I had become on Facebook was not the real me. That person never had a bad day, never felt the weight of stress and pressure, was alway happy, always reading, always thinking, always doing something fun… He was never sitting on the couch in a hoodie and gym shorts stuffing his face with potato chips and crying at a Liberty Mutual commercial (not that that ever happened or anything).
Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “We have allowed our technology to outrun our theology.” We all need to take some time and carefully weigh the price of technological innovation and progress in our lives and for a season I have chosen to deactivate my Facebook page to do just that. I am unsure how long this “fast” of sorts will last but I can say that after 26 days I don’t really miss the Facebook. Life goes on in the same way, and I’m actually enjoying it a little more.
This is the Eulogy I prepared and gave at my Grandma’s funeral last week…
Dorothy Mae Abel Shockley passed away at 11:20am Tuesday, September 7 2010 at the age of 90 with her family by her side.
Family was important to Grandma and it’s fitting that as she left this world her family was there by her side. Grandma grew up in a large family with 8 brothers and sisters and spent her teenage years living through the Great Depression before meeting and marrying Grandpa Abel on February 10, 1941.
Grandma was a devoted wife, mother and homemaker raising 4 wonderful daughters in a 2-bedroom house without air conditioning, without a microwave, and without a dishwasher. She was resourceful—she had to be. She became a tremendous cook on a tight budget. Living in the city, somehow she would get a couple of live chickens (we think from Aunt Cleo’s farm), wring their necks in the driveway—in full view of the neighbors (don’t mess with Grandma!)—lop off their heads and hang them from the clothes line in the yard as she plucked the feathers clean and cook up the best fried chicken you’ve ever had. She was such a good cook that she figured out ways to get her daughters to eat liver and onions, ham hocks, and pig brains—and before they figured out what they were actually eating, they loved it!
As her daughters grew up and had kids of their own Grandma was never far away. As Mary toiled away as a single mom, grandma was there to watch Billie. In fact, she watched us all… she was always there. When my dad lost his job and mom had to go back to work… grandma was there to watch me and make things a little easier. Grandma was always there to help out wherever she could. She wanted to make things easier for her daughters and did whatever she could to show her love and support.
I loved spending time with Grandma, she made the best hot dogs in the world. I swear she did something to the water she’d boil them in… And for 15 years I’ve been trying hopelessly to figure out what she did to make those stupid hot dogs so good. She’d pull them from the magical water, slice them down the middle and serve em up on a bun. Delectable! Every day after school, and even on the days I faked being sick, Grandma would make me those magical hot dogs to make everything better.
Grandma loved to take us out, she’d take us to the Surf Club, to the park, she’d take us fishing—and whatever we caught, she could turn into a mean fish stick! And whenever we’d get hungry—no way was she going to take us to a concession stand; she had a perfectly prepared bologna and ketchup sandwich close at hand!
Grandma was always there, and she passed on her love and value of family to each of us. But that’s not all she passed on… grandma had an insatiable love for the Cubs. It’s hard to believe that in her 90 years of life they never won her a championship—stupid Cubs—but she never waned. Just a few days ago, on her last good day in the hospital the Cubs game was on, and her eyes lit up as she saw the score—the Cubs were actually winning. I remember sitting with her every day in the summers watching the Cubs, eating a big bowl of chocolate ice cream. Wow, Grandma had a sweet tooth… and each and every Christmas she worked to pass that sweet tooth on to each of us with 2 ½ pounds of Zachary Chocolates!
A few short years after Grandpa Abel died, Grandma reconnected with her high school sweetheart, Loyd. And after a short re-courtship decided to get married. It was only a few years after Grandpa Abel had passed and each one of her daughters thought Grandma was moving way to fast. They sat her down and told her to slow down and take her time.
Grandma’s response? “Slow down? I’m 70. I don’t have time to slow down!”
And marrying Loyd was one of the best things she could’ve done. I still remember the ceremony, Grandma wearing the dress she’s in today exchanging their vows in Elwin, in the living room of the preachers home. There was no time to waste!
Grandma and Loyd were quite the pair, and they spent 13 wonderful years together, traveling the country and collecting all the state magnets they could. They proudly displayed each and every state they visited on their fridge. One Halloween night, a few years after getting married, they dressed up and went to Aunt Anna’s house, “Trick or Treat!”
She didn’t even recognize them! Grandma sure knew how to have a good time with Loyd… they seemed to be absolutely perfect together.
I’ll never forget one afternoon in high school as I was walking through the mall with some friends. Just a few steps in front of me was an old couple holding hands. I thought to myself, “that’s strange, I didn’t know old people held hands.” As I got closer, right in front of the Hallmark store… you’ve probably guessed by now… it was Grandma and Loyd. I’ll never forget their example and display of love.
But perhaps more than anything, I’ll remember Grandma’s swing on the porch. I loved that thing and I’d go out there and make it go as high as I could, the chains making a wretched sound—almost as if I was gonna bring the whole porch down! Grandma would come outside, not say a thing and just sit down with me on the swing. We’d swing there for a while just sitting and enjoying the day. She was always able to calm me down with the greatest of ease. I don’t remember any of the conversations we had on that swing—I don’t even remember if we said two words, but in those moments I just knew she was and would always be there for me.
I love you Grandma, and I’ll miss you.
Seven years.
It’s hard to believe that seven years ago today, Tracy and I were married and began this journey of life together hand-in-hand. It’s hard to believe that we’ve moved as many times as years we’ve been married and it’s hard to believe how many and how big the challenges were that we’ve had to overcome in such a short amount of time. It’s hard to believe that we’ve made it as far as we have, and yet at the same time it’s hard to believe that the past seven years have been so easy.
It’s not hard to believe that each and every day I love her more, that I stand amazed that she ever said “I do”, and that her patience and her grace make this life so much easier to walk through. It’s not hard to believe that she’s a gift, one that I’m learning to appreciate more and more. And it’s not hard to believe that she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Seven years… what a ride… and to think there’s so much more to come!
