The Playground

 Not doing the whole word-count thing anymore. Remember quality over quantity. Had fun writing delicious dinner table scene. It’s the scene you see in movies sometimes. I call it the-Luke-I-am-your-father-wine-in-the-face-girl-I-know-you-didn’t-scene. Not saying mine will be that good, but I sure had fun writing it!                                                                                                                      

Do you remember the feeling of being at the playground when you were little? The simple, classic joy you felt by grabbing someone’s hand you didn’t know and asking, “Hey, wanna play hopscotch?”

Facebook reminds me of an adult playground. A place where you can get a glimpse of someone, and decide on a whim to be “friends”. Your friendship is just like that whimsy on the playground, carefree and light—no talk of what you ate for dinner, or why your mother makes you speak to people when you don’t want to, (a challenge that I had to bring up here as I’m facing this problem with my daughter. What is it with three year olds and their fickle nature of speaking only when they feel like it? Could go on for ages on the musings of pre-schoolers…), you simply are two people with the same desire—the desire to see who can hop their legs in a particular square without touching the lines.

Facebook reminds me of those years, the simple times when you could tap someone on the arm because you like the yellow barrette in their hair and say, “Do you want to be my friend?” You didn’t worry if they said no, they didn’t say no. Their little eyes would light up and they would chime, “Yes," and accept your friend request.

That’s been my experience with Facebook so far. To approach an author whose book or work I admire, (who under normal circumstances I wouldn’t dare), and say in a childlike voice, “Can we be friends?”