Legacy Matters

Monuments to a Decent Life

Joseph Cooper writes in the Christian Science Monitor about monuments to decent lives as he reflects on Presidents' Day.  If you ever wondered whether the experiences of your life are worth passing on, listen to what Cooper says. 

Let's face it, there are few Mount Rushmore lives.

Still, each of us, in our own way, carves out a bit of history that should be set down - for our own edification, and for each of our families and a few friends.

So, he's taken upon himself to write about himself for his son about those experiences in his life he wants his son to know.  We all have had high shining moments in our lives that stay bright in our minds. We also all have had crushing disappointments and mistakes that sometimes turn out to have directed us on to a better path.  I think that what we think of some of the moments our lives will turn out to be a treasure for those generations that follow us.  It's the stories of our lives that are worth saving.

Here's more of what Cooper wants to tell, memorialize and save for his son.

I have only one constituent - a son. Without fanfare, I have inaugurated my own campaign, not just for approval ratings but to pass down a bit of my history - a sense of the little moments that made big impressions, and are housed in my mental archives.

I want my son to know how I felt when:

• As a Little Leaguer, inexplicably, I struck out with consistency.

• As a Babe Ruth sub, I once got a walk and, miraculously, stole second and third.

• As a college freshman, with my father in the stands, I ran a distant fourth in the 100-yard dash, having stayed up the night before to participate in fraternity pledge inanity.

• As an ROTC cadet, I experienced abject fear crawling under barbed wire with machine-gun fire spraying that sector at Indiantown Gap Military Reservation; I endured slurs and condemnations as I walked to and from Ivy League classrooms every Thursday; and I was conflicted when officially advised that I was medically unusable in the jungles of Vietnam.

• As an infantry reject about to enter law school, I saw a college track teammate return to campus in uniform, medals thick on his chest, taking big strides on crutches, and with a trouser leg shortened to above the knee.

• As an infantry reject who had just entered law school, I learned of my ROTC company commander's death in action in Vietnam.

• As a law student, I learned to be cynical about the law and lawyers.

• As a political volunteer, I learned to be cynical about politics and politicians.

• As a teacher, I learned to be cynical about public education.

• As an underemployed public relations writer, I learned about job searches and became cynical about human-resource professionals and economic recovery.

• As a writer of personal essays, I learned that my cynicism was not helpful, and that more could be conveyed by working through disappointments, by purging resentments, and by trying to understand and explain how good things come about.

He also points out, writing these down doesn't require a book-length memoir, nor are they written in stone.  You can always rewrite and revise.  The point is to begin.  You begin where you are.  Start with notes on your computer, polish them up and give one or more stories to your children on their birthdays.

Hat tip  to Christopher Bailey at the Alchemy of Soulful Work who writes after reading Cooper's essay.

I immediately thought of my two daughters. There will be times in their growing lives that they will wonder who their father was: what he saw that amazed him, what he experienced that influenced him, and he did that made a difference. And there's room to include the less than perfect moments that taught hard lessons.

This isn't an exercise that needs to be put off for when we reach a certain age. Consider it an organic document, one that lives to be added on to.