We all realize that we are limited. Maybe we don't realize it right away but as the years go by, we get a firmer grasp of mortality, death, no longer chatting and guzzling or even existing (in this form). True, molecules of us will still be around but it is so hard to find them and identify them. Besides, what good is a molecule of Grandma? What we want is the living, breathing woman who looked good, said good things, and was good.
Sometimes, the next best thing is something of that person's story. When a person is being celebrated or remembered, we often focus on that person's special achievements. Here in the US, we tend to overly concentrate on being #1, the first, the head of the group, etc. So, we remember that Grandma was the first in her neighborhood to use size 15 needles. It can be said that Grandma made history by using those needles. Of course, many things can be said.
I attended a convention of historians once. They emphasized that history was a story that someone wrote. Of course, it should be about something and/or someone in the past. I could write about events or impressions that happened this afternoon and title the writing "History of an afternoon". You could, too. If I do and you do, will the two writings agree word for word? Of course not! You and I know nothing about each other's experience of this afternoon.
As people get older, they sometimes wonder how they will be remembered. Will I be remembered as the kid who returned from lunch at home to enter the kindergarten wearing a pre-tied necktie atop a t-shirt? I may be, if you would kindly write about the momentous event. I made history when I decided to be a little more formal, a little more highly dressed when I returned that afternoon. I know I did because I have just told what happened in writing, writing that will last ever so long in this blog.
Don't be too shocked when your own beloved greatgrandchild learns about my sartorial success in his junior high history class.
