Saving Face(book)

by Geno Petro

Chicago Broker Owner Realtor | RE 2.0 Blogger

Author website

I find it worth mentioning that the first Facebook event invitation I accepted and actually attended was a funeral. I responded ‘Will Attend’ via my iPhone before realizing that the fellow who had sadly passed on was not the person I originally thought he was. Same first name, similar last name, entirely different demons come to find out. All the same, I kept my virtual promise and wore my black suit to the office on Thursday. All day long people kept asking me, “Where are you going?….to a funeral?”

It was a wake, actually. And not the kind of wake that existed before Web 2.0. This wake included an eclectic playlist from the dead man’s iPod, a digital mixed media presentation on a flat screen of his life up until the previous Monday, and no casket anywhere in site. The funeral home was a funeral home though and there was no mistaking it, we were all gathered in a parlor. Parlor D to be exact.

It turned out that I did happen to know this fellow in passing but was, more specifically, a friend of a friend of his on Facebook–you know, that six degrees of separation social network that everyone and his uncle’s friend (including Uncle Geno) belongs to these days. I looked around Parlor D and semi-recognized several of the less stoic faces. Although I’ve exchanged some Wall-to-Wall comments with a few of them in recent weeks no words were spoken on this eve. Perhaps because none of us really look like the best face we chose to make public and just didn’t recognize each other. I, for one, am no where near as cool in real life as my profile picture implies—especially in a funeral parlor, D or otherwise.

I spotted a couple mourners secretly texting and reading emails beneath scarves and winter coats, their backs and bodies turned deliberately askew, diffusing any direct sight lines from the landlined elders–those old school survivors that always roam the rooms at such gatherings. Several others were braving the lake effect Chicago chill, conducting the most pressing voice-to-voice cellular business under the portico out front. And those of us not partaking in the passing of the interactive bong were secretly jonsing for a digital hit. I made a conscious effort not to reach for my own device until I at least signed my name in the guest book. There were no prayer cards. Maybe I’ll get one in my Inbox on Monday, I thought.

I have been intrigued with the whole six degree separation phenomenon ever since one of my buddies married an actress who actually was in a movie with Kevin Bacon, placing me only a few sizzling degrees away from the big Bacon himself. Same deal with our new President-elect. My wife and I are friends with Michelle Obama’s fashion designer here in Chicago. And Michelle, in turn…well do I really need to say it? She’s sleeping with the Man, for chrissakes! Three ticks to the right and it could have been me. (It’s a pretty scary game when you write it all out.)

I made a quick, sad round of nods and handshakes, watched a little video on the flat screen, then headed for the parlor doors. A saying came to mind that I once heard at my own uncle’s memorial service. ‘We come into this world crying and everyone is joyous. We leave this world joyous and everyone is crying.’ I took out my iPhone and began to type the sage dogma into my Notes when I heard…

“Hey Geno.”

I turned and recognized the face of an old friend. A first degree kind of friend. She had lost a lot of weight since the last time we ran into each other. At the time she had just given birth to her second child.

“You look great,” I said.

“Thanks,” she replied. ” And I’m not even wearing black.” And she wasn’t. She was wearing red. Red to a funeral. Very cool. Very 2.0.

“Well,” I said, tugging at my own lapels. “Until they come out with a darker color…” We chatted for a few moments longer before turning to head in opposite directions. Coming, going, joyous, crying. Roaming. Life’s unfair circle.

“Ten more pounds,” she called back over her shoulder “… and I’ll be ready for Facebook.” I walked out into the cold air thinking, ‘what a funny thing to say at a funeral.’ I made it a point to enter the thought when I got back to the car. I checked the 2 New Messages in my Inbox as the engine came to life and warmed up the pitch black night: One cancelled inspection for the next morning. One Facebook Friend Request from someone I did not know. No prayer card.