Facebook is George Costanza’s Curse: World’s Collide
You’ve heard me talk about the Seinfeld episode where George bemoans the crashing of his worlds; how I identify with that. In fact, colliding worlds kept me up last night.
Facebook offers the perfect entré to colliding worlds; all you have to do is look up people from your past. Sometimes you find them and sometimes you don’t. If you do, you might find remarkable things, or not so remarkable things. So-and-so became a __________ fill in the blank. You never expected so-and-so to become a doctor; why, he was such a slow wit! And how did SHE become a lawyer? Do you dare reach out and make contact? Would you be rejected? You tell yourself this isn’t the playground, you are now adults, but it doesn’t matter: In your mind So-and-So is still that bully bitch, but how nice that she looks like an old hag and she’s younger than you!
OK, so that’s the mindset; Facebook, the Pandora’s Box of the past. All kinds of stuff fly out once you open the person’s page: Could be bluebirds or bats but you takes your chances … So, I played the game, “Whatever-Happened-To?” I paid dearly with loss of sleep because the world of the distant past collided with my present.
First, I looked up Michele. I hadn’t seen her since the mid-eighties. I didn’t find a Facebook page but I was linked to the internet where she appeared to exist in New York City and/or Florida, and married to a man who was close to eighty–she is in her mid sixties.
From Michele, I hyper-spaced to Lee, who had dated Michele; he was a childhood friend of my first husband’s.
It was the end of the 1960’s; I married in my late teens. Somehow Michele and Lee had met. He brought her to our tiny basement apartment in the Bronx and Michele and I became friends. We double-dated. I thought Michele and Lee would last forever. Michele thought Michele and Lee would last forever. They didn’t: But Michele kept asking about Lee. For years.
Lee’s good looks were redolent of young Jack Nicholson. Women flocked to him. He was older than I, and older than my then husband, in his mid-twenties. His father wanted him to carry on the the field of medicine but he wasn’t interested in becoming a doctor like his father. Instead he became a teacher who went camping in the summers. He was somewhat tall, dark, quite good looking, on the quiet side, had a great smile, a decent laugh, an arched eyebrow, delicate nose; he was always a little overweight and was a heavy smoker.
Then the parade of women …
With Michele out of the picture, I introduced Lee to my college friend, Arlene. She was immediately smitten. I thought Arlene and Lee would last forever. Arlene thought Arlene and Lee would last forever. They didn’t. But Arlene kept asking about Lee. And then she gave up and married Norm.
With Arlene out of the picture, Lee appeared at our door with Susan from the Lower East Side, who, serendipitously, attended my high school. He brought her up to the Bronx and it appeared that this was it. But you know the drill. It ended.
And so did my marriage: My husband died of illness in his twenties and soon after Lee disappeared into the future.
About fifteen years ago I saw Susan in a Chinese restaurant in Queens. It seems the world, along with egg rolls had gotten smaller and smaller. She had never seen or heard from Lee again.
Nor did I.
He took his clean-cut-Jack-Nicholson-good-looks to wherever it is he went. Lee became a hollow name, a vague memory and a curiosity. Until I did the Facebook search.
Sometimes things are better left in the past. But don’t bother telling the human spirit that.
So, this is what I pieced together: Lee left Michele, Arlene, and Susan in his past and found his future. He married “Joyce,” and at some later time he left her in the pile of short-lived relationships along with the others. Honestly, I never thought Lee would marry. He had a superficial excuse about everyone he met, but it seems that eventually he did take the plunge, and beyond the plunge he took another plunge: he had a daughter.
I think what I find so fascinating is that he evolved to that point.
I left his Facebook page and kept it closed for some weeks. I thought I might write and say: hello, how have the years treated you? But, I never did. However, something called me back to the page last night.
I looked at it again and this time I scrolled down. I found photos and words and links to family pages.
2012
…Remembering you is easy, I do it everyday. Missing you is the heartache that never goes away. Love you Pooh
My dad is everything to me, always been there for me I spoke to him 15X a day everyday. He loved me unconditionally no matter what, dropped everything for me. He really was the best dad ever! I dont know how to live without him or what to do without him 😥 I love him soooo much and miss him sooo much already.
Visiting my Dad, it will be a month since his passing. Not an hour goes by without me thinking of him & wanting to pick up the phone to call him. I miss him like crazy but i know hes always with me in my heart. I love u Pooh with all my heart u were the best Daddy a kid could ever ask for, Rest in Peace
September 8, 2013
One year ago today I got the hardest news I’ve ever had to hear. My Dad, my friend, my hero had died. I’ve never felt so alone in all my years alive. I didn’t understand it, how will I survive? I know that in the life I lead he will always be a part. I love you Pooh & will miss you everyday for the rest of my life. I hope that you have found peace in Heaven & you’re watching down on me. Thank You to all who have been there for me this past year. I appreciate it, don’t know what I would of done without you guys, I will never forget XoXo
Happy 70th Birthday to my Daddy. Its your first Birthday in Heaven, I wish more than anything I could just talk to you one more time. No matter where I go in life you are always with me in my heart. Love you forever your Daughter
February 27, 2014
Dad I wanted to wish you a Happy 71st Birthday in Heaven. Life really sucks without you. I’m heartbroken that you are gone. You gave me a reason to smile & live life. Know that you are always in my thoughts & prayers. Love you Forever xoxo
— feeling honored to have a Daddy like you
I found photos of a little girl with her with her dad, a camper behind them, he is holding her aloft on his shoulders: she looks like the happiest child I have ever seen. Is it the 1970’s? The 1980’s?
He is overweight–that belly! Was he still smoking? He looked the happiest I had ever seen him. Holding his kid.
In a sense, Lee did grow up. Although he never seemed to find the right woman for a relationship, he learned how to love and to be selfless. By having a child.
Happy Valentines Day Dad! When I lost you, not only did I lose my father I lost my HERO. We had a bond like no other. I was and always will be Daddy’s little girl. I know your in a much better place now, watching over me. Rest easy Pooh. I Love & Miss you sooo much.
How old was she? Could she be in her thirties? Her posts sounded like that of a naif but her current photo was that of a young adult. What was the dynamic here?
Did Lee become ill, had he been ill? Was it the weight, the smoking? Sixty-nine is young for a man to die.
Why was I having such a hard time grasping this? Was it the shock of the photos? Was it that I felt closer to my own mortality? Was it that I was so touched by the relationship he had with his daughter? Did it remind me that I didn’t have that kind of relationship with my father?
Or was it the intense pain his daughter was having because of this terrible loss? Why is this haunting me?
Rest in piece dad youll always be my Pooh (Feb 27 1943-Sept 8, 2012)
Or is the message that for some, sixty-nine is a ripe old age for a man to live? That he had grown to learn the meaning of love, that he made a child so happy? How very lucky was he!?
And then there are others, like my first husband, who are gone at twenty-eight.
I must say, I envy that “little girl”, my dad died at the ripe old age of 32!
The good news is, she seems to really appreciate the wonderful relationship they had.
The sadness will fade with time, but the happy memories will last forever.
You, of all people, can understand that because of the tragedy of your own husband’s MUCH too early demise.
Are you sure it was her Pandora’s box you opened?
Hi, Nan, I envy her, too. I think several Pandora’s boxes were opened, very true.