Skip to main content

Unavoidable

 It stops with me.  This invisible burden that I've carried for decades definitely stops with me.  I'm the last of the line on my father's side and I have no children.  The name, in all its forms stops with me.  But, it is much more than the name, isn't it?  It's the legacy, the family, the historical continuation.  

Maybe it's just a construct.  We are all brothers and sisters, right?  The family of man, or more accurately stated the human family.  That helps to ease the burden.  

I don't think about it all that much and I recognize that the word burden may be too excessive.  What I have begun to think about is what will happens to all the evidence that the family did exist.  I have become the keeper of all that remains.  The photos, documents, important papers that once held such import as to be kept secure and protected.  



I opened the storage tub that houses this archive today.  Envelopes that contain family photos covering 4 decades in various shades of sepia and fading gray.  What happens to these glimpses of life when nobody claims or wants them?  That is the burden.  I fantasize about some sort of ritual.  Wish I could burn them and then a clean solution would enable me to move on. But that is not possible, so I must consider all that revolves around the idea of trash.  People's lives in a trash can.  Their poised and posed smiles, their happiness, real or imagined.  

A couple of unexpected items stop me in my tracks.  The  guest book from my father's funeral signed by a few neighbors and his brother and sister.  Inside were my notes for the comments I made at his funeral.  That was 50 years ago.  Not needed now.  And, for some reason, my original transistor radio from my Jr. High days.  The old Sears Silvertone still has the earphone plugged in.  It appears in good order but closer inspection reveals a melted battery and sticky insides.  The top 10 will never ring from its tiny speaker.  I think of sleepless nights I spent with that ear phone firmly planted in my right ear.  The first Dylan songs, the shocking news from the weekend of the Kennedy/Oswald assassinations, the long version of "Light My Fire."  KFWB and KRLA.  KMPC for the baseball games and KCBS for all news all day.

I have no choice.  If  don't do the great purge, the necessary disposal, who will?  There is some satisfaction in knowing these traces of time remembered don't fall in the wrong hands.  I sometimes think that the worst case scenario would be disrespectful, or painful in some unknown way.  

So I will lay the record to rest, not to waste.  I'll do what is necessary to avoid anything untoward.  I'll give these remnants a final look and surrender to the unavoidable, knowing I did the right thing.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Writing on the Wall

       The first time I saw graffiti that was memorable was in a middle school bathroom.  As 6th graders I often walked home with friends by the middle school we'd soon be attending.  A stop by the boys bathroom near the boys gym placed me face to face with a piece of graffiti that immediately madame and my friends laugh uncontrollably.  On the wall above the urinals, was penned a short poem that read"                     This is a Teepee to take a pee pee,                         Not a wigwam to beat your tom tom      14 year-old humor at it's best.  The laughter my friends and I experienced was cathartic.  Being bottom of the barrel Freshmen could have dire consequences in the boys bathroom.  Those unpleasantries would come later, but for the moment, we were ecstatic and proceeded to read all the g...

The Quality of Optimism

 I've returned to The Book of Qualities, by J Ruth Gentler once again to meet the needs of one of the senior students in my little Writing From Memory class I'm currently teaching in my local community center.  This little volume personifies various concepts and personality traits.  The particular student "in need" seems to be fixated on writing about her past relationships.  Apparently, there were many.   I'm OK with that.  I only hope that she picks a few qualities that are as revealing about herself as those that might describe her Ex's.  There is much to be learned by writing about a quality.  The aforementioned book seems to have survived well over the years.  I first encountered it and its author way back in the late 1970s.  I took a journal writing workshop from her.  Then, a few years later, her book came out and I introduced these writing exercises to my students.  11th grade Juniors seemed to do the best with it. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...