Gee, that last post garnered more action than any other I’ve ever made. Although I don’t know who anyone is (except for one whom I know of only for her blog that I follow) I do appreciate the time you took to comment.
Most replies centered on what one said, “it [Facebook] does allow people to find old friends to connect with”. I thought about that long ago and then again when Facebook first emerged upon the scene and actually couldn’t think of anyone I grew up with, went to school with or (horror of all horrors) worked with, that I would want to connect with. Well there is one, a girl friend from my youth who I would like to be able to say to her, “I’m sorry”. She probably wouldn’t know what I was sorry for and I'd have to explain, but I’ll never know.
I joined Classmates.com years ago when I first got involved in the wonderful world of computerland. I just signed in for the free ride - Class of ’66 Warren Senior High. One person in all these years has made a contact to my name. I keep getting these reminders from Classmates.com to see who ‘signed my guestbook’. Of course I have to upgrade my membership from freebie slacker to premium gold in order to find out who signed my page. It is probably some guy who I owe money to or wants to relate how fun it was to pick on me in school. It’s not that old girl friend, that I know, for her name is not listed on Classmates.com. I’ve looked - many times.
If I did get involved with let’s say Facebook, who would hit me up from my childhood? No one. I didn’t have anyone to play with, or at least anyone who knew my last name. Kids I went to elementary school with, I don’t know their last names so why should I think they would remember mine? Move on to my formative years in junior high and high school. I’m afraid anyone contacting me, even if I did remember the person, I most likely wouldn’t remember what they were reminiscing to me about. I’ve been to enough high school class reunions to attest to that. High school class reunions, now there is an event that really shatters those long implanted memories of people you spent a lot of time around. “Oh my God, that is not how I remember her/him”. Then I go into the restroom and take a long hard look at that image of myself in the mirror and can only imagine what they are thinking. I quit going.