’Tis the season to be friendly to all

Twenty-two years ago, in May of 1985, I broke my leg on a bushwalk. Nasty break it was, spiral fracture of the left femur, and out in the middle of nowhere — no medical attention until the following day.

I don’t tell you this to establish my manliness credentials (as if they need establishing — snort), but to explain why it was that during that year I spent some months in hospital. And while I was in hospital I met, as you do, a number of people whose paths I would otherwise not have crossed. Interesting folks, many of them, but without the usual criteria of geographic proximity or shared educational experience that generally dictate teenage relationships I simply wouldn’t ever have met them.

Every once in a while over the subsequent decades it had occurred to me to wonder what had become of some of them. But of course, there was no way to find out easily. The White Pages was about the best resource available for finding people, and it could be daunting — especially if they move cities or change names, as often happens.

Then along comes Facebook. Facebook, like other social networking sites, places great store in your ability to connect to “Friends” – however stretched the definition of “Friend” has become – in order to accommodate thousands of people you’ve never met and will never meet. To encourage the creation of “Friends” Facebook allows you to search for people you know, or have met, or knew someone who met once, or whom you met many decades ago, in traction.

Which is where this story begins, really. Early on in my Facebook career I did what most people do, and searched madly for every name I could drag out of my head — friends, professional contacts, people I went to school with, people I worked with once, people I met at uni and got along okay with back then. They’ve probably forgotten about that whole incident at Manning Bar, surely. Sheesh, talk about holding a grudge.

Anyway, the name of one of the people I met in hospital back in 1985 popped into my head, and was promptly entered into the Search field of Facebook. Sure enough, a result was produced matching the name of the teenager I’d met back then. Photo didn’t match, but then my photo doesn’t match my teenage self either. I’m less hairy now.

I sent a request to be added as a “Friend” and got a response back that was very much in the vein of “who are you and why are you stalking me?” Facebook can be like that. Once we got beyond initial suspicions, we got to chatting and updating each other on our lives.

We’ve taken vastly different paths, lived in different countries, led widely divergent lives, and come a long way from where we met. And yet there we both are, on Facebook, almost like neighbours.
Actually, it turns out we live about five minutes’ drive apart and both have kids about the same age. As I write this, I’ve just come back from a barbecue at their house.

Neat things, these Internets.

Matthew JC. Powell still walks with a limp, and has met all of his Facebook friends. Seasons greetings from mjcp@optusnet.com.au

all be friendly season software the tis to