This is the second post in a three-part series, all tightly tethered to that creepy feeling. When put together, they will convey my stance about a word that means a lot to me in a world of online, open communication: identity.See that kid over there? He's about to chuck a snowball at a passing car. His ability to calculate trajectory, distance, speed, and a myriad of other criteria make his upcoming toss a spot-on bulls-eye.
Thwat!
See that driver over there? The one who just had his windshield powdered by a snowball? He's applying the brakes. He's shifting the car in reverse. He's looking for the source.
But the kid is long gone. He's darted through the backyard and is already in the woods waiting out the search.
******
That kid is gonna grow up and he's gonna write a blog. That driver is gonna read that blog.
That blogger won't use his name on his blog. He will remain mildly anonymous. He will remember his snowball hurling days and think of anonymity and preservation.
That reader will gosh-darn read that blog with regularity. He will reflect on the thoughtfulness of the posts. He will comment assiduously. But he will soon reach a point where that blogger's voice is nowhere near as profound as the person who stands behind it.
******
I teach my student's to take pride in themselves. I urge them to stand up for what they believe in. And I sure as hell would never tell them to go stand behind a bush, shout an invective, and then run for the hills.
Don't hide in the woods. Don't run for protection. Stand up, take credit, believe in what you espouse.
Your message is strong, but you are stronger.
Sign your name. Step up. Be heard.
******
That driver over there? The one getting back in to his car? He's the U-12 State Select Baseball Coach. He's always looking for talent.
2 comments:
"That creepy feeling"
A man stands on a soapbox facing a crowded city street. It's rush hour and people are strolling by,
hurrying by or simply trying to get from point A to B. Life is happening.
The man can be counted on to be a constant participant on this soapbox. Some days the man on the soapbox can be erudite, wistful and sometimes even heartbreakingly poetic.
But this said--the man can also be blustering, egomaniacal and bigoted. But all the same--everyday, even though there is movement all around him, some people listen as they pass, others ignore him and some just smile.
No one ever stops to ask the man on the soapbox his name. They really don't care. When he is poetic--they sigh. When he is funny they laugh.
When the man blusters or is wrathful they frown or wave him off.
But--they NEVER ask his name. It's not important to them. He is taken at his word. For in this place of moving people it is all they can do-- take people at their word or words and count on the fact that a name is not as important as what comes out of the mouth and heart of that person who has chosen to stand on the box.
I must believe that part of true identity is owning up to any act of unkindness perpetrated through an initial thoughtless comment made while standing on the box. Because in this place of moving people, with life happening all around, sad but true, no one really wants to know your name.
I strenuously disagree that anonymous blogging (unless it's obviously hate-mongering or life ruining or slanderous) is anything at all like taking cheap shots at someone else's property and then running away.
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