Message In A Bottle

Ok, now I'm totally convinced of it--the internet is another of my guardian angels, the central nervous system of God. When I first started this blog, almost a year ago to date, I was literally talking to myself. Back then I read instapundit everyday, a political blog that probably got 100K hits an hour. There was no way I was ever going to reach that kind of notoriety, and nor did I try. Actually, that isn't totally true. I launched another blog simultaneously to opine on my political observations, but that died after one post. Boooring! So I turned inward and talked about the thoughts that swam through my head from time to time. Old flames, exciting times, troubled times, funerals, road trips, fights, victories, defeats. I made a connection with a handful of readers--and so we swapped stories and encouraged each other to keep going.

Then came Jason's Two Lights contest, then Ann Maries, then my connection with Flood, a suggestion to submit my story to Deathlings, and bada-bing! I'm getting published. How divine.

Meanwhile, my old college stories are floating out there still, alone, like a message in a bottle. And like that stranded castaway who watches its pitifully small splash, I never thought it would ever actually reach the intended recipient. But this one did.

This morning, after snoozing the alarm three times, I stumbled out of bed, stepped into my flops, crept past the kids--skillfully avoiding the creaky floorboards--then snuck into the office to check my email before walking the dog. I was greeted by the following (edited slightly to remove personal information--and read the post if you really want to understand):

Scott,

I found the blog about Jason and his wonderful stage performances. He's my dad! I shared your blog with my dad and he couldn't believe it! He was amazed at how you captured the memory of those times so precisely. He also wanted me to pass along that he is very flattered that you found his performances so engaging. He spent a lot of time practicing his acts but more for fun than striving for perfection. But, to know today that all that made such an impression warms my dad's heart. Thanks so much for painting a picture of my dad when he was younger so that the both of us could relive the memories, me for the first time, and my dad for the hundredth!

(Chuck Berry's daughter!)

Where do I even begin! I wrote her back of course. This is just too exciting. To think I provided such a candid and flattering account of her father, and that they would actually find it. Can you even imagine how that must feel? I told her that I can't, but the reality is that I can imagine it, and imagine it well.

I've lamented in the past that the times I spent in school may as well have never happened, because nobody remembers. It was an entirely unique universe composed of all our personalities, one that will never be reconstructed or appreciated.

Washington State University, 1984.

A small part of it came back to life today.