As a parent, seeing your child graduate from high school or college is one of the most memorable events in your life.
People who have been through it will remember the pride and unbridled joy that come from seeing your not-so-little one finish a part of their life they worked so hard to complete.
Dennis Roach, a dad from Texas, must have felt ten times better in 2018 because his daughter’s high school graduation gave him the chance to take a picture from 2000 all over again, and the result made people all over the world smile…
Dennis finished high school in 2000, and he was lucky to have his toddler daughter Tori with him for the party.
At the time, they posed for a picture, and Dennis kissed his little girl. It was the right way to remember his big day.
In 2018, Tori Roach was the one who marked the occasion of her high school graduation.
Dennis was, of course, there to celebrate the occasion, and he and the other person had the great idea to take a new picture of the two of them from eighteen years ago.
In the new story, Tori lay in her dad’s arms and got a kiss on the face again.
People on Twitter loved the pictures she posted of the pictures from 2000 and 2018. No one could have predicted how well it would be received.
“18 years later,” Tori wrote under her picture. It quickly went global, getting 57,000 reposts and almost 150,000 likеs.
In the comments section, many people were happy to see the picture.
“Ugh this is just the sweetest,” one person wrote.
Another added: “One of the best pictures I have seen … I wish you and your family the best of luck.”
“Wow lovely…” a third said.
But the feature that a lot of people saw and couldn’t help but comment on was probably the most interesting thing about the two pictures.
One thing that stood out was that Tori’s dad, Dennis, didn’t look likе he had aged at all between the two pictures.
“How old is your father,” mused one person. “He looks ageless.”
“I think you froze your father until you grow up,” another joked.
“Damn did you dad age any?” a third quipped.
Tori couldn’t believe how many people were interested in her post.
She later had to explain that her dad, who was 37 years old when she graduated from high school, wasn’t single.
She also talked to People about Dennis’s pride.
“I woke up and I had a ton of notifications. People had started sharing and liking and commenting all over again. My dad was really proud. We’re from a small town, so nothing likе this really ever happens. And he was likе, ‘That’s so cool!’”
She added, “It brought me and my dad closer in a way because we could shаrе that moment, and I feel that not many other people get to experience that.”
My 81-year-old grandma started posting selfies on Instagram with heavy filters.
The notification popped up on my phone, another Instagram post from Grandma Rose. I sighed, tapping on the icon. There she was, her face smoothed and airbrushed beyond recognition, a pair of oversized, cartoonish sunglasses perched on her nose. A cascade of digital sparkles rained down around her. The caption read, “Feeling my vibe! #OOTD #YOLO #GrandmaGoals.”
My stomach churned. At first, it had been a novelty, a quirky, endearing quirk of my 81-year-old grandmother. But now, weeks into her social media blitz, it was bordering on unbearable.
It had started innocently enough. She’d asked me to help her set up an Instagram account, intrigued by the photos I’d shown her of my travels and friends. I’d thought it was a sweet way for her to stay connected with the family, a digital scrapbook of sorts.
But Grandma Rose had taken to Instagram like a fish to water, or rather, like a teenager to a viral trend. She’d discovered the world of filters, the power of hashtags, and the allure of online validation. Suddenly, she was posting multiple times a day, each photo more heavily filtered than the last.
The captions were a whole other level of cringe. She’d pepper them with slang I barely understood, phrases like “slay,” “lit,” and “no cap.” She’d even started using emojis, a barrage of hearts, stars, and laughing faces that seemed to clash with her gentle, grandmotherly image.
The pinnacle of my mortification came when she asked me, with wide, earnest eyes, how to do a “get ready with me” video. “You know, darling,” she’d said, her voice brimming with excitement, “like those lovely young ladies on the internet. I want to show everyone my makeup routine!”
I’d choked on my coffee. My makeup routine consisted of moisturizer and a swipe of mascara. Grandma Rose’s “makeup routine” involved a dusting of powder and a dab of lipstick.
The worst part was, my entire family was egging her on. They’d shower her with likes and comments, calling her “amazing,” “inspiring,” and “a social media queen.” They were completely oblivious to my growing dread.
I was trapped in a vortex of secondhand embarrassment. What if my friends saw these posts? What if my coworkers stumbled upon her profile? I could already imagine the whispers, the snickers, the awkward attempts at polite conversation.
I found myself avoiding family gatherings, dreading the inevitable discussions about Grandma Rose’s latest post. I’d scroll through my feed, wincing at each new notification, my finger hovering over the “unfollow” button, a button I couldn’t bring myself to press.
One evening, I found myself sitting across from my mom, the glow of her phone illuminating her face as she scrolled through Grandma Rose’s profile. “Isn’t she just the cutest?” she gushed, showing me a photo of Grandma Rose with a digital halo and angel wings.
“Mom,” I said, my voice strained, “don’t you think this is… a little much?”
My mom looked at me, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? She’s having fun. She’s expressing herself.”
“But it’s not her,” I argued. “It’s like she’s trying to be someone else.”
“She’s adapting, darling,” my mom said, her voice gentle. “She’s embracing technology. She’s living her best life.”
I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument. My family, in their well-meaning attempt to support Grandma Rose, were completely blind to the awkwardness of the situation.
I decided to try a different approach. The next time Grandma Rose asked me for help with her Instagram, I sat down with her and gently explained the concept of “authenticity.” I showed her photos of herself, unfiltered and unedited, her smile genuine, her eyes sparkling with wisdom.
“You’re beautiful just the way you are, Grandma,” I said, my voice sincere. “You don’t need filters or slang to be amazing.”
She looked at the photos, her eyes softening. “Do you really think so, darling?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Absolutely,” I said, squeezing her hand.
Grandma Rose didn’t stop posting, but she did tone it down. The filters became less intense, the captions more genuine. She even started sharing stories from her life, anecdotes that were both heartwarming and hilarious.
And slowly, I began to appreciate her online presence. I realized that it wasn’t about trying to be an influencer; it was about Grandma Rose finding her own way to connect with the world, to express her joy, to simply be herself. And in the end, that was more than enough.
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