My friend has expressed to me a couple times how she feels that Facebook and blogs and the like will surely have a largely negative affect on society as a whole–mainly because of the way they are changing the way we all communicate with one another. Namely–they hinder our ability to communicate clearly and appropriately through good ol’ fashion spoken word. These days, things are typed and texted (is that a word) that would likely never actually be spoken to a person. It seems the computer (or cell phone ) provides us with some kind of defensive shield to hide behind as we write the things we are too afraid to actually say. Also, these social networks open up a whole new avenue for unhealthy competition–and therefore a whole new breeding ground for hurt feelings, jealousy, self loathing, pride, depression, etc.
And although I would argue that these forms of communication have also allowed us to reunite with old friends and keep track of relatives, etc., I think she is right. While I’m not a big fan of Facebook, I guarantee you I have blog stalked on a number of occasions and found myself wishing I was as skinny as so and so, and as rich as so and so, and as creative as so and so, and as talented as so and so, and as interesting as so and so, and as attractive as so and so, and….yikes, this blogging thing IS dangerous. And I have definitely said things on my blog that I would never have said directly to everyone. Ironically, though, that is exactly the reason I felt so grateful to have my blog a couple weeks ago. The truth is–I love keeping a blog. I love remembering the past and documenting it….and I just really love the writing. I don’t (and can’t) write stories. I don’t (and can’t) write poems (well, except for the occasional one in my Christmas letter), and I don’t know nearly enough words to write descriptively….I just write my blog. So anyway….thank you for being my friends, and thank you for reading, and thank you for your kind comments every once in a while.
OK.
This last weekend was our third annual mom-and-sister reunion, and it was as good as ever. This year we stayed at my maternal grandparents’ house in southern Utah, and it was perfect. Their house is just big enough to pack us all in, and just small enough to keep us all together. We went out to eat, did a little shopping, watched a couple movies, played a couple games…but mostly, and most enjoyably, we just talked and laughed and talked and laughed some more. I’ve said this before, but sometimes it can be kinda sad for me to realize that both of my little sisters became adults without me. I mean, I wasn’t there. I always felt like I knew them really well, but in many ways I didn’t, and really couldn’t, because I wasn’t there. So while at these reunions there is always a little sadness in recognizing there are things about my sisters that I never knew, I always feel grateful to now have the opportunity to find out. I love all my sisters (and Kat’s one of them) and we all adore my mom. She is the best.
Sarah reminded me of a time when we (at least she and Charley and I) had ridden (could that be the right word? It sounds so weird) our bikes to school–I’m sure I was on my hand-me-down bike with the banana seat. On the way, we braved our way past the usual group of older Jr. High kids. Well, we must have looked at them the wrong way or something, because one of the boys ran after Sarah and punched her in the back. All three of us were horrified and scared to death, and I was balling, of course, and none of us knew what in the heck to do. As Sarah recounted it, my mom (meanwhile) felt a prompting at home that she needed to jump in the car and check on us on our way to school. Finding all three of us in hysterics, she asked what had happened. Sarah told the story and pointed out the perpetrator as flames started shooting out of my mom’s ears. She whipped the car around and went and found the bully; and man, she let him have it. She got right in his face and assured him that if he EVER messed with her kids again, her husband would have him arrested.
What a good story. I was so glad that Sarah had pulled that memory out of the recesses of my brain. As Sarah finished telling it, we all chimed in about how in tune with the Spirit my mom has always been, and how she has always protected and stood up for her kids. You mess with us–you definitely mess with our mom.
Funny thing is–my mom was asleep as the rest of us were having this conversation, so I related it to her on our way to the airport on Sunday. She kinda laughed and said that although she wished she had been so in tune with the Spirit to know to rescue us in the very moment of our need, in actuality, we had returned home that day and told her what had happened. And the next day, she had followed us to school and had Sarah point out the mean kid. Ahhh, so what? She DID let him have it. We all remember that part. So it’s still an awesome story. Too bad my mom couldn’t be there every time someone was mean to us.
Oh, yeah, and you’re probably thinking, “Ann, I don’t remember your dad being a cop.” Yeah, well–what is it they say? Drastic times call for drastic measures?……..Yep, they sure do.
