The Irony of Facebook

When I was about thirteen or fourteen years old, there was a boy, around three years older than me, who was so cruel and so mean to me, that now, as a parent, I wonder how he was raised to be capable of such cold hearted behaviour. His behaviour ran a little beyond typical high school bullying. I had forgotten about him though, and the assumption was that I bore no ill effects from his antics.

And then Facebook happened. Facebook has this application on it, that, judging from who you already have on your friend list, it generates names of other people on Facebook who you may know and wish to be friends with. Well, this asshole keeps popping up, and Facebook keeps asking me if I want to get in touch with him. The first time I saw his face and name, a flood of memories came back, and for a moment, I was transported back in time and once again felt all the insecure teen girl that I was, believing his cruel taunts. Now that I’ve seen him pop up a few more times, it is taking everything in me not to lash out at him and let him just how much he sucks/sucked. Part me fears that he would read it, sneer, and laugh out loud at the pain he caused. Another part of me thinks get over it, it’s been over twenty years, time to let it go. And, the last part of me thinks that it is time to quit Facebook altogether, feel blessed with the great friends I have and hold on to them tightly, rather than trying to rack up my friend numbers.

God I hate that jerk.