When I was 13, my mother took my brother, sister, and me to the Virginia State Fair.

I enjoyed seeing all the young animals, eating cotton candy and “elephant ears,” and riding on the rides that required me to be a certain height.

When I was 17, I drove my first car, an old Rambler, to the fair by myself, where I quickly began to discover areas my mother had managed to shield me from.

I was amazed and entertained by the variety of people I encountered. Some people liked each other, and some people seemed frazzled and distant. Some wore cowboy boots and some sandals. Some wore tight-fitting jeans; for some, their tight-fitting days were probably over. Even though I didn’t know anything about them, I thought that under different circumstances, some of us could become friends. There were others I avoided by moving to the opposite side of the corn dog booth. I was so disturbed by their actions that I accidentally ordered a snow cone.

There were “freaks” there, both human and animal. Some girls older than me seemed rather fond of feather boas and inviting people backstage. Agriculture students slid their hands up to their elbows into a cow’s lady parts and pulled a calf out by their front legs. There were also young adult farmers sleeping on blankets between their sheep.

Somewhere in my past, I remember hearing the word “melting pot.” On my way home, it occurred to me that not only was I beginning to understand the term, but that I had lived the experience.

Now, the reason I’m sharing this story with you is that, well, social media is like a melting pot. You can enjoy, learn, and share the diversity of what we have become, but you don’t have to reach into a cow’s lady parts and pull a calf out unless you want to.