GHOSTS
When you spend as much time as I do wasting time on the Internet, it's easy to forget the power it wields. Recently, I've been virtually visited by my distant past, both of whom found me via this blog. Last night, I received an email from a 67-year-old woman whose father was best friends with my grandfather, Bob Clay. Now, Bob Clay was a man I never really met, and I wrote about this non-relationship in this blog last year. Because of that, there is a Google listing for him, and that's how she found me. The woman was worried I'd be shocked by the news that "Bobby" was adopted, that his bio-mom was a famous early film star, and that he was known to have a martini in one hand and a pitcher of martinis in the other. I've heard only terrible things about him, so it was odd to hear that he was someone's best friend for virtually a lifetime. I wasn't shocked; I felt more like a journalist getting the facts about a stranger. It was weird and it was great, though I would like to know who the famous actress was. I'm guessing I haven't heard the last of Bob Clay.
The other email I received was much less welcoming. I was never very close to my mom's third husband's three kids. (ya got that?) But one of them popped out of the woodwork a few weeks back wanting to reconnect. Now, I have a wife and kids, and I don't have enough time for the people I love; why do I need to spend precious hours with someone to whom I'm indifferent. Here was the gist of her first note:
I am sorry you did not like my father, I can't stand him myself and I have not talked to him since I moved.... I only visited my dad because of [your mom] I loved her and she was a great lady she was like my second mother I was there for her always also You and I were like family I do not see why you won't talk to me. I really have nothing to do with him and I have always stood up for you. Blahblahblah.
I wrote back explaining the reasons why I didn't want to pursue a continued dialogue. But, naturally, she didn't get it. Instead, she told me how much money she made. Judging by this response, she's the type whose self-worth is joined at the hip to the money she earns. That somehow it was okay to be her friend because she makes "400K a year." Are people really so tacky, If so insecure, that they feel they need to buy their friends, so to speak. Why should I be impressed by this? Now, would I like to make more money? Sure. Wouldn't anyone? But I don't need to know what my friends earn. I know, it makes me incredibly judgmental. But it's the same principal as "I wouldn't want to join a club that would have me as a member" (did I get that right?). I have no interest in communicating with anyone who believes that their salary makes them cool. If she were male I might think she was compensating for a small penis.
I guess you can chalk it up to how she was brought up. It explains a lot.
When you spend as much time as I do wasting time on the Internet, it's easy to forget the power it wields. Recently, I've been virtually visited by my distant past, both of whom found me via this blog. Last night, I received an email from a 67-year-old woman whose father was best friends with my grandfather, Bob Clay. Now, Bob Clay was a man I never really met, and I wrote about this non-relationship in this blog last year. Because of that, there is a Google listing for him, and that's how she found me. The woman was worried I'd be shocked by the news that "Bobby" was adopted, that his bio-mom was a famous early film star, and that he was known to have a martini in one hand and a pitcher of martinis in the other. I've heard only terrible things about him, so it was odd to hear that he was someone's best friend for virtually a lifetime. I wasn't shocked; I felt more like a journalist getting the facts about a stranger. It was weird and it was great, though I would like to know who the famous actress was. I'm guessing I haven't heard the last of Bob Clay.
The other email I received was much less welcoming. I was never very close to my mom's third husband's three kids. (ya got that?) But one of them popped out of the woodwork a few weeks back wanting to reconnect. Now, I have a wife and kids, and I don't have enough time for the people I love; why do I need to spend precious hours with someone to whom I'm indifferent. Here was the gist of her first note:
I am sorry you did not like my father, I can't stand him myself and I have not talked to him since I moved.... I only visited my dad because of [your mom] I loved her and she was a great lady she was like my second mother I was there for her always also You and I were like family I do not see why you won't talk to me. I really have nothing to do with him and I have always stood up for you. Blahblahblah.
I wrote back explaining the reasons why I didn't want to pursue a continued dialogue. But, naturally, she didn't get it. Instead, she told me how much money she made. Judging by this response, she's the type whose self-worth is joined at the hip to the money she earns. That somehow it was okay to be her friend because she makes "400K a year." Are people really so tacky, If so insecure, that they feel they need to buy their friends, so to speak. Why should I be impressed by this? Now, would I like to make more money? Sure. Wouldn't anyone? But I don't need to know what my friends earn. I know, it makes me incredibly judgmental. But it's the same principal as "I wouldn't want to join a club that would have me as a member" (did I get that right?). I have no interest in communicating with anyone who believes that their salary makes them cool. If she were male I might think she was compensating for a small penis.
I guess you can chalk it up to how she was brought up. It explains a lot.
posted by Erik Himmelsbach at 9:09 AM
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