Yesterday, Taye Diggs followed me on Twitter. I got the email notification at 10:04 a.m. You fellow Twitter users know the one I'm talking about--Taye Diggs (@TayeDiggs) is now following you on Twitter. I said to myself, "It can't be the REAL Taye Diggs. What would he want with me?"
Apparently, nothing. I quickly Googled "Taye Diggs Twitter" and found out that Mr. Diggs follows a ton of people. And he's been doing so for a while now. (Do I feel cheated that it took this long to find me? Not so much.) In fact, back in June 2014, Taye Diggs told the Today show the entire story of why he started following so many people. Truth be told, I found the story somewhat amusing.
But his follow got me wondering. How did he find me (or how did his assistant find me, because I'm not sure he's the one actually in charge of his Twitter follows), and is there something I can do for Mr. Diggs? Is there some part of my life that he might find interesting and useful?
So I did more digging (oh, that's downright awful) and this is what I found--that I have nothing in common with @TayeDiggs other than two things: 1. We're both writers. (He wrote a picture book--published in 2015--entitled, Mixed Me! So actually, he's one step ahead of me, because as of this post, I haven't actually published a book. [I'm not counting this lovely gem, because even though it took a lot of hard work to write captions for pictures and chapter introductions, it wasn't quite the creative endeavor I'd been hoping for. As in, I don't feel like it's a book.]) 2. We're both parents.
And perhaps that's the connection he or his assistant latched onto when they considered yesterday, Who else can we follow in this quest to follow so many? Because as of this morning, I'm pretty sure I still have four children here at home. Four active, hilarious, interesting, and eccentric children who've provided countless hours of amusement and joy. The lives of whom have filled many a blog post. I've been through sleep jags, teething, potty training, primary nocturnal enuresis, asshole 12 year olds, and more eye rolling than a gaggle of teen girls could ever hope to produce. I've listened to more potty talk than I ever imagined I would, and stomping? We've had that here, too. And don't get me started on the "not listening" routine or the "keep your hand out of your pants" rant. On the other hand, I've also been the lucky recipient of a plethora of hugs, and smooches, and sweet smiles.
Or maybe, and more likely, my name randomly popped up as a Twitter suggestion. And perhaps I need to inform Mr. Diggs what I can do for him. I can tell him more than the average Joe what it's like to live with someone who has depression. I can tell story upon story about the battle we have as educators here in the United States. I can wax poetic about the Midwest (come visit sometime, it really is quite the place to raise a family!), and give a pretty good picture of the toll Alzheimer's takes on a person. In fact, if he had the interest (and I'm pretty sure he doesn't), I could spend hours talking about muscle contraction and nerve synapses. I could go on, but the four beasts will wake soon, and since we're in the last throes of summer vacation, we have much to do.
Do I have a connection to Mr. Diggs, or was he (or his assistant) randomly clicking? I'll never know, and I'm not sure I care. Any connection to Mr. Diggs himself is tenuous at best. But my momma brought me up right. Which means I'll be polite and follow him back. After all, I have a child who wants to be on Broadway someday. Maybe it isn't a case of what I can do for him, but what can he do for me?