Lately I've been thinking about how I'll be remembered after I'm gone. You know, after I've bought the farm, went to the big Kirbarosa in the sky, exited stage right from planet earth. This all started a while ago when I was thinking about the Kirby family tree and I noticed that beyond my grandparents I really don't know anything about my great-grandparents or anyone else in prior generations. That means in 100 years no one in my family will remember anything about me. Sure, they'll be able to go to ancestry.com and see that I once lived and was married to Mrs. Planet Kirby but nobody will know anything about my life.
Now I realize that if someone cared they could do a lot of research and find out about my birth place, where I went to school and where I lived and worked but those are just dates and places. It would tell them nothing about who I was. The memories of growing up Kirby would be gone forever. Future generations would not know about my dog, Useless, or the stories of growing up in Cumberland during the sixties and seventies. The tales of how I fell in love with and married my high school sweetheart would never be known by future generations of Kirby kids.
What's funny about this whole mid-life future identity crisis, on my part, is that when I ask my children about their memories of growing up Kirby they only seem to remember the bad stuff. Now I know that most of the time they are only trying to get a rise from old Dad, however, I am somewhat of a control freak and I want to make sure that the good times are remembered amongst a few (very few) faux pas on my part. Winston Churchill once remarked, "History will be kind to me for I intend to write it." To that remark, I say, "Ditto."
Over the last year, I have been writing my memoirs if you will. Stories about growing up Kirby. A few Christmas' ago, my oldest daughter gave me a book where I was supposed to write down something from my childhood each day during the year. As with my New Year's Resolutions, my enthusiasm for the book task lasted about a week. The caveat was that at the end of that year I was supposed to give her the book back and she would learn about my life and some of the stories of my childhood. Sorry, Nina, I failed (again). But there's a new day coming.
So if you enjoy Planet Kirby, you'll love my book. Who knows, maybe 100 years from now, my great-grandchildren will read my book and think to themselves, "That explains a lot about our family."
Be Well.
Bill
