Not Everyone Is on Facebook…Deliberately

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” ~ Henry David Thoreau, Walden 1854

I recognized his crooked smile, the way one side of his mouth veered slightly down and to the right. It had been and was still his most distinguishing characteristic. While he looked older, the teenager I had known him as was still in his face. For the life of me, I could not remember his name yet I could see in my mind’s eye exactly where he’d sat in Room 26, at a desk against the wall where I hung photographs each month honoring birthdays.

I was out to dinner with my parents and kids in one of Portland’s nicest restaurants last night, celebrating my daughter’s solo success after her holiday concert. He was our waiter. If he had told us his name before taking our orders, I hadn’t heard, so before he disappeared with our ticket, I asked him what his name was.

“My name is James,” he said.

Of course. James.

“I don’t know if you remember me, but I was your high school English teacher your Junior year.”

“Oh wow,” he said, that crooked smile made even more crooked as he came over to my seat to shake my hand. “How have you been?”

“You had a twin brother,” I said.

“I still do,” he said.

We all laughed.

He asked if I was still teaching at the high school. I said no. I asked how long he had been working at the Heathman. He said six years. He told me he has a family, a wife who works as a nurse and a 17-month old son named Henry.

Henry. Hearing that name reminded me how much James had loved reading Henry David Thoreau’s Walden. He had been one of the most vocal and passionate students about that body of work when we discussed it in class. I wondered if there was any connection between his son’s name to Thoreau, conscious or otherwise.

The rest of the evening unfolded splendidly. Before our main courses arrived, James brought each of us the house’s finest salad, compliments of the chef. He was top notch, serving us from a place of honor and gratitude. He joked with my children. He asked my parents how they were enjoying their visit to Oregon. He serviced our table exceptionally well, and I was overwhelmed with his generosity and professionalism.

At the end of the night when my father looked at the check, he saw that James had treated us as VIP’s which qualified us for a discount.

“He did that because of you,” my dad said.

As we were gathering up our things to leave, James came over again to shake my hand.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” I said.

I was met with that dazzling crooked smile for the hundredth time that night. “It was great seeing you again, Mrs. Kayser.”

“Are you on Facebook, by chance?”

He shook his head. “Actually, I’m not. I was for awhile, but I never seemed to find time to use it. Since I wasn’t contributing, I decided to close my account.”

I smiled. “You know, I admire that. No sense in having something you don’t use.” Exactly like Thoreau.

As I drove home, my mind was back in 1993, nearly twenty years ago, before Facebook, before the Internet, when life in many ways seemed simpler. Although of course it wasn’t.

Still. Meeting the occasional person like James who has deliberately decided not to be on Facebook does make you slow down — even for just a little while — and recognize that life did exist before Social Media and will continue to exist just fine whether you use it or not.

Thoreau, I think, would be proud.