Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines, He wrote a poem And he called it “Chops” Because that was the name of his dog And that’s what it was all about. His teacher gave him an A And a gold star And his mother hung it on the kitchen door And read it to his aunts. That was the year Father Tracy Took all the kids to the zoo And he let them sing on the bus And his little sister was born With tiny toe nails and no hair And his mother and father kissed a lot And the girl around the corner sent him a Valentine signed with a row of X’s And he had to ask his father what the X’s meant And his father always tucked him in bed at night And was always there to do it.
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines, He wrote a poem. He called it “Autumn” Because that was the name of the season And that’s what it was all about And his teacher gave him an A And asked him to write more clearly And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door Because of its new paint And the kids told him That Father Tracy smoked cigars And left butts on the pews And sometime they would burn holes. That was the year his sister got glasses With thick lenses and black frames And the girl around the corner laughed When he asked her to go see Santa Clause And the kids told him why His mother and father kissed a lot And his father never tucked him in bed at night And his father got mad When he cried for him to do it.
The state of being completely forgotten or unknown
For every person alive now, 14 have died. It’s scary, isn’t it? 14 lives forgotten. 14 stories left untold. After we pass the most we can hope for is three generations of remembrance. There is nothing more heart-wrenching for me than to think about it, being average just doesn’t cut it. The only ones eternally memorialized are those who are evil, and those who are angelic. I have spent my fair share of time contemplating these numbers and ideas and I have reached a conclusion. I can’t let myself worry about things that are so far out of my control. As long as I make an impact on one life—change the future of one individual, I have done something with my life. Sure it’s not the glorification we all secretly hope for, but it’s *Something*. With a capital ‘S’
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