It would appear that I am getting the bulk of my writing done while in the air. This time the equipment is an Airbus A321, and we’re tracing the western face of Portugal bound for the  Subsaharan demarcation  line. I don’t know how many times I have flown on this particular TAP flight, but I know for sure that it’s my most frequently traveled route.

I’ve been itching to write this particular blog entry for about two weeks, but as life tends to go, I have only now gotten around to getting my thoughts on paper. That’s the beauty of life at 33,000 feet: you’re kind of a captive audience. 

Although the subject really doesn’t warrant additional real estate in our collective consciousness, I want to talk a little bit about Facebook. Like many of you, I happen to find this free service a colossal time suck- but at the same I’ll wager that we log on with alacrity and scan through pages of what should really be inconsequential life comparisons. It’s kind of like going to Vegas and stationing yourself in front of a slot machine: for hours on end you’ll absent-mindedly feed quarter after quarter of your precious existence into a device that won’t give you much in terms of a real life boost. To me, that’s Facebook on an average day. 

So rewinding back two weeks, I was on an Irish shuttle bus and happily availing of its free wi-fi service. When online I’m always super proficient at keeping multiple webpages opened up; three of them always include my e-mail account, Twitter, and my Facebook page. On this day I clicked on Facebook and noticed that I had a friend request pending.

I need to back up, but I’m kind of not sure where to begin. I say that only because I feel like this is one of the most important posts that I have ever attempted. I guess I’ll just start by showing you a photo of Steven, my babysitter. While on the bus I accepted his friend request, and then subsequently stole this photo off his profile page with the afterthought hope that he won’t mind me taking the liberty to repost it in Internetland: 

He seemed so old at the time, but now that I look at this picture, I think the exact opposite of his features. Everyone looks big when you’re three years old.

I think that I have always been a hyper-aware person, and as a small child I remember existing in receive mode as I constantly took stop of the people around me. Some I silently deemed to be kind, while others came off as downright nasty- maybe even causing me to feel less than valued. Luckily for me, Steven was a spirit who exuded great joy for and devoted his undivided attention to me and my three sisters. I remember his sunny disposition with a vividness that shines through most of my other disappeared memories- even though I know that I was so young at the time. 

Back in the very early 80s (the adults in this story can tell you exactly when), Steven was over at the house to babysit as my parents attended a function in Hyannis. Talk about playing at Vegas with lousy odds- Steven wound up watching the four of us on a night where the house would catch fire. Although I was very little, I seem to remember him bursting into our bedroom and telling my oldest sister that we had to get out because there was a fire in the house. My memory may or may not have created the idea that Myriah informed him that “He was just kidding” and she went back to sleep. That’s probably an embellishment that I have long since told myself.

What I definitely remember is next being outside and feeling extremely distressed by everything that was going on. Finally, I recall laying in my aunt’s bedroom and staring out into space as I tried to process the events of the night, and my new and unfamiliar sleeping arrangement.

Whatever did or did not go down that night with respect to my Amnesia Lane recounting, you have already figured out that Steven got the four of us out of the house before the smoke consumed the upper floors. He’s the reason why I’m sitting here and either entertaining or boring you with my navel-gazing blog entries. He’s the reason why my sisters and I have grown up and continued forward after that very scary and surreal night. 

Steven went on to college and his physical presence faded from our lives. I do remember him coming back to the house once to say hello, and I can still remember how excited I felt to see him again. I gave him a big hug- and to this day I remember what his kind voice sounded like when I saw him again. Apart from these scraps of memory, the “fire in the house” story simply became another part of our family’s vernacular without further discussion. We lost touch with Steven over the years as we all went on with our respective lives, but from time to time I always wondered what became of him- and I always, always, always wanted to thank him for doing what he did on that night back in Mashpee. I suspect that my sisters felt exactly the same way, too. 

So having said all of that, I retract my opening comments about Facebook being a colossal waste of time. I’m wrong; it does of course have its positive aspects. For better or for worse any person can reconnect with you after many years and many miles of separation. Steven made the gesture to find all of us, and I can only now wonder if he is at all surprised or impressed at how we have turned out (like what does he think when he reads Myriah’s blush-inducing status updates). The immediate “reunion” on Facebook was a really joyful post-a-thon as we finally we got to communicate our gratitude for his actions, and also reflect on how amazing it is to “speak” again after so long.

Steven’s now an airline pilot (just as my father was), and it would appear from my stalking of his Facebook page that my babysitter is doing extremely well for himself. I browsed all the photos posted of him as a younger guy, and it’s exactly the face and smile that I remember so well. It brings me back to happy days as a small child when we were lucky enough to have a babysitter who made each of us feel special. Of course I have profusely thanked him for everything that he did for us, but I don’t really feel like the thanks via cyberspace are enough. No plaque of appreciation or Hallmark card ever could fit the bill; instead I can only hope that he has made his way through life always knowing that unlike most of the population, he has had a No Kidding a profound impact on the lives of an eternally grateful family.