4.5. Old School

When did family become old school? It boggles my mind how many times I see people who are so dependent on social media to be social that they miss the true opportunities to reach out to those they know. Or better said, those they knew. Because you lose touch with people and their realities.

When did family fights lead to a Facebook delete? And when did this delete decide whether or not people will ever reach out to each other? People can tag others on posts but won’t bother to make a phone call.

Huge life moments happen and friends can’t reach out to one another. Family can’t reach out to one another. People don’t pick up the phone, put in the effort to have a five minute conversation. Everything is from behind a screen, whether it be the phone or the computer.

I’m not really sure when communication became old school. I’m not sure when talking became old school. I’m not sure when the default button, for lack of a better term, became the go to. The button that gets slammed the minute there is an issue. Instead of humbling oneself and moving forward, we stay waged in a war we aren’t even sure why we’re fighting.

Social media was created to socialize but instead dictates and controls whether people will allow bonds to flourish or fail. We are quick to deny, delete, ignore the “requests” that should matter but we accept any and everyone who will fuel the fire our ego needs to stay warm.

Too often, I hear people criticize the Christian who only attends church on Easter and Christmas. “Chreasters.” And yet, aren’t we all fair weather friends, fair weather family? Aren’t we all guilty of only reaching out when the time is fitting?

Set aside the obligations and requirements. Instead, reach out to those who matter and make an effort. Take an extra moment out of your day and reach out. Because one day, people will be gone. And the opportunity will be lost. The only thing worse is to ask a child if they want to call someone and the child responds “who is that?” Because that child should know. But he doesn’t. And it wasn’t our choice.

I’d give anything to hear my dads voice again. I can look at pictures of him, a piece of paper with his handwriting on it. But there is nothing that compares to the sound of his voice. And only those who can appreciate the old school way could understand that.

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