So it's a pretty big day. But we'll not cloud this day of anniversaries with musings of Egyptian leaders, great as they may have been. Instead, I'd like to tell you a little about my paternal grandmother and what she would have to say about today's economic worries and what you should do with the money you have: HIDE IT. HIDE ALL YOU CAN. Not that anybody knew she was doing this all those years. It wasn't until her death 14 years ago that we learned just how saving-savvy she was. We found stacks of 20s stuffed between pouches of muffin mixes that were concealed in gallon-size ZipLoc bags. We found small bundles of 5s and 10s tucked in drawers. Safe deposit boxes were homes to stacks of 100s banded together with sticky notes on top -- the total amount of the stack, where the money came from, etc. Many of these stacks were found by way of a treasure map of sorts that she had left behind. The others were found purely by accident, like by rummaging through the pantry in search of a muffin mix. "How in the world, Amy, did she manage to stash away so much cash? Was she a millionaire?" I will tell you how: She didn't spend. She worked hard, bought only what she needed, made what she could and watched every penny. And therefore, she was debt-free.
If Insecurity Has a Website ... it's Facebook. "I'm eating breakfast." "I'm bored." "I'm leaving for school." "My boyfriend has a paper due." "I just spent five minutes in the bathroom."
What's that loud sucking noise? It's the time being wasted on Facebook. And boy, are my eyes tired.
Months ago, I toyed with the idea of creating a Facebook account -- even went so far as to register a password. My reasoning was that it would allow me to monitor the young people. But I realized, "Hey, wait a minute, I'm the adult around here, so give me YOUR password." And they did, and that's how I navigate my way through Facebook. And I have to say, I hate it. Ninety percent of the site is bogus, and the other 10 percent is boring.
In Facebook, kids sometimes claim they are "married," which I don't understand at all. It might say that a girl is "married" to, say, her best friend, Ashley. So I asked my teenagers, "Why do kids say they're married?"
"To keep the pedophiles away."
"Wait a minute, you believe that a 16-year-old who wears braces, boldly posts her full name, school name, practically her entire CLASS SCHEDULE and a photo album of 32 different shots of herself doing herkies and standing atop a human pyramid is concerned about a pedophile thinking she's single? Do you honestly believe that a pedophile will gloss over this teenager's Facebook page and say, 'darn, she's married'? Here, let me pull you out from under that rock that seems to have rendered you naive."
"Well, maybe 'married' means 'in a serious relationship'."
"Yes, that is exactly what 'married' means, but not when you're in high school and doing herkies."
"Gosh, Mama, what's your problem?"
"Facebook. Facebook is my problem. If ever there were a case against the internet, this is it. This is the most narcissistic thing I've ever seen."
"But this is how kids talk to each other now. Through Facebook, texting ..."
"Let me make something clear to you: That's not TALKING. That's LAZY. And WRONG. And INSECURE. Why are kids scared to look friends in the face and have conversations? To pick up the phone and hear each others' voices?"
You would have thought I was performing a one-night show at the Improv. They laughed until they nearly wet themselves.
And Finally, a Little Genealogy ... Because nothing is better than hearing about somebody else's family tree. If I were speaking to you personally, I'm sure you would want to gouge your ear with an ice pick, but because you're reading from a screen, I'll never know if you said, "Ugh" and clicked over to Facebook, or turned off your computer, or decided to take a nap instead. And that is why I am saving this story in its entirety for The Book, whenever it may be written. But I'll provide a teaser: After I wrote this post, I received an e-mail requesting more information about my grandfather, who may or may not have an airplane on exhibit at The Smithsonian. I found nothing. But because his son (my uncle) shared his name and was a Junior, I stumbled across some incredible information about him and his tour in Vietnam, where he died at only 23 years old. (I barely remember him -- I was 3 when he died. But I do have some cool pictures of us together.) And in that research, I formed a friendship with one of his college friends, Buck Hartley. (If I were a soap opera writer, I would work that name into the script: "Buck Hartley, thoracic surgeon, renowned philanthropist and crime solver," or something.) So Buck-Who-Has-The-Greatest-Name-Ever has generously shared his memories of my uncle with me and even went to the trouble of e-mailing this photo from his recent visit to the Vietnam War Moving Memorial Wall, which stopped in his hometown earlier this week. (See Travis B. Lee Jr.)
Our family has several etchings we have made at the Vietnam Memorial in D.C., but this digital image holds more meaning, as it was taken by one of my uncle's good friends -- someone I've never met who took the time to visit the Moving Wall in Tifton, Ga., take this photo and e-mail it to me. Truly, a selfless act. Thank you.
It's the WEEKEND. Try not to spend too much money, stay off Facebook at all costs, and do something nice for somebody.