You Like to Like

Occasionally when I check Facebook, I have an unusually high number of notifications. When that happens, I say to myself, “Oh! I’m pretty popular!” Then I click on those notifications. The list says: “Mom likes your post.” “Mom likes your post.” “Mom commented on your post.” “Mom likes your post.” The list fills up my screen.

And then I feel worse.

Every time this happens, I make two noises. When I first see the number, I say, “Oh!” But when I click on the number, I say, “Oh,” in a different way.

“Oh!”
Click.
“Oh…”

I’ve looked back at posts that I put a lot of thought into. Pieces of writing, or video clips that meant a lot to me. Posts that everybody in my little Facebook circle scrolled right on past. Meanwhile, however... somebody... one single arm-flailing little person, right-clicked their praise into my life. "I like this!" "I like this, too!!"

What’s worse? Absolutely nobody liking your post? Or, the one person that likes your post is your MOM?

She’s like Dustin Hoffman and Barbara Streisand’s characters in Meet the Fockers. Relentlessly supportive, no matter what. And Facebook is like my Wall of Gaylord.

“Oh!”
Click.
“Oh…”

A friend of a friend once said to me, “You should get a real job.” My mom has said to me, all my life, “You’re strong. You’re intelligent. You’re talented.”

A lot of the time you feel judged, even mocked by the world. You feel like a loser. But there are occasions, very rare moments, when you want to display even your ninth place ribbons. You want to believe that you’re strong, you’re intelligent, you’re talented. That you’re a winner in your heart, and in your head.

Fockers… They never quit.

Thank you, mom, for never scrolling past my stuff. For still reading my old high school poetry.

You like to like, and I like that.