"I hope that when I die someday people remember me as an ornery son of a gun." The memory came in a flash. I was in my early twenties and sitting in the car with my father as he was drove me back to college. Those car trips provided rare opportunities for one-on-one time which sometimes led to heartfelt conversations. I can picture him saying those words with his hands relaxed on the steering wheel and his eyes focused on the road's path before him. It was a true picture of how he approached life. Always in the driver's seat, looking forward, and aware of the potential surrounding him. Always ready to do what was necessary to keep any member of his family safe, yet relaxed and taking life one mile at a time. And of course, always with his thoughts leading to humor. Always looking for a way to make someone laugh and brighten their day. A simple car trip that is significant not only for the words he spoke but also for the lessons he taught while simply driving. The lessons that would one day become part of his legacy.
Legacy has been much on my mind recently. What exactly is it? That question kept repeating itself in my thoughts. My time teaching in a 4th grade classroom had me opening up dictionaries to find the definition I was searching for. The closest I found is the following from Macmillan:
I imagine my legacy musings began with my father's passing in April. As I sat and listened to the loving words spoken by those who eulogized Dad, there was a quiet persistent voice inside me that questioned who Dad really was and what legacy he wanted to leave for us. What did he hope to achieve that would continue to exist long after he died? Truth be told his wish to be remembered as, "an ornery son of a gun'" has been realized. The photo below shows him as a man who existed years before I knew him, but I recognize the look on his face. The smirk that speaks to his orneriness and the joke that is in his mind. The attitude that when life throws you a challenge just thumb your nose at it, crack a joke, and keep moving forward with your eyes focused on the road ahead.
That was the man I knew as my father. Yet the question of who else he was lingered in my mind. That question then led to others. As I went about the process of simply living I tried to quiet those thoughts. They were determined however, and I would hear from them again.
Mother's Day was approaching, and I began a bit of a treasure hunt as I searched through the hundreds of photos in my possession for a particular one. It speaks to my priorities that said photos are not well organized, and I never did find the one I was searching for. That turned out to be a blessing because my search led me to discover the treasure of my hunt. It was a picture of Mom as a young woman. She was playfully showing off her legs with her thumb out in that universal sign of hitch hiking. She was laughing and carefree without the responsibilities of being a wife and mother. That happy-go-lucky lady was unfamiliar to me. For me, Mom's legacy was strength, faith, and determination. She loved us with a passion, but I rarely saw that part of her that was free-spirited. When I found the photo I stopped and stared. That persistent questioning voice of my thoughts made itself known once again. Who were you, Mom? What kind of legacy did you want to leave for us? What do I want my legacy to be?
As is the way of the universe, the more I reflected on legacy the more the it knocked at the door of my thoughts and demanded to be let in and dealt with. It next showed up in an online class I was taking from an awesome and creative woman named Lesley Riley. The lesson included a Youtube clip of a Ted Talk speaker named Minke Haveman. There was a glimmer of tears in Minke's eyes as she spoke of a shopping excursion with her mother. Her mother found a pair of high heeled pink shoes that she was determined her daughter should have. When Minke demurred her mother insisted and said that everyone should have a pair of pink shoes. She bought them for Minke, and her smile beamed as she gave them to her. Minke then went on to explain that her mother was battling cancer at the time, and those pink shoes were to be the last gift she received from her mom.
Minke spoke of those pink shoes as being a part of her legacy, but only if their story was known. And therein lies a truth. At the very least a part of my parents' story is not known. The same is true of all my family and loved ones who are no longer here to tell me their stories. The loss of those stories brought about some loss of legacy.
Minke spoke of those pink shoes as being a part of her legacy, but only if their story was known. And therein lies a truth. At the very least a part of my parents' story is not known. The same is true of all my family and loved ones who are no longer here to tell me their stories. The loss of those stories brought about some loss of legacy.
Minke encourages her listeners to gather their stories and share them. Write on the back of a photograph, share your memories, and let it be known why some seemingly insignificant object is cherished. Those are the things that speak to our hearts, and aren't our hearts the core of who we are? Are not those things we cherish voices of our legacy?
There is an old chipped mug that rests in a place of honor on a shelf in my home. Although it bears my name it was given to my parents by one of my aunts at a time before I remember. It was displayed on a kitchen shelf not only throughout my childhood but through my adult years as well. It was simply always there and became a touchstone for me whenever I visited my childhood home. It speaks to my presence as a member of a loving family. It easily brings back memories of family dinners when we gathered around the kitchen table, shared simple meals, and talked about the day's events. As that mug held its place on a small kitchen shelf it also seemed to hold my place in my family. It proudly sat on that shelf in our kitchen, and is it not said that the kitchen is the heart of the home? Does it not follow then, that this seemingly insignificant object has earned its place in my heart? And does not my heart contain the core of who I am?
The wonderful truth is that we are each the author of our own legacy, and we are each the lone author who can tell our stories completely. We can choose what gifts or achievements we leave that will continue to exist long after we die. However we need to tell the stories of our lives rather than let those stories be hidden in closed books. We need to show what is in our hearts for it is those things that give birth to our legacies.
As her presentation was drawing to a close Minke asked a question that I will now ask you. What are your pink shoes?
There is an old chipped mug that rests in a place of honor on a shelf in my home. Although it bears my name it was given to my parents by one of my aunts at a time before I remember. It was displayed on a kitchen shelf not only throughout my childhood but through my adult years as well. It was simply always there and became a touchstone for me whenever I visited my childhood home. It speaks to my presence as a member of a loving family. It easily brings back memories of family dinners when we gathered around the kitchen table, shared simple meals, and talked about the day's events. As that mug held its place on a small kitchen shelf it also seemed to hold my place in my family. It proudly sat on that shelf in our kitchen, and is it not said that the kitchen is the heart of the home? Does it not follow then, that this seemingly insignificant object has earned its place in my heart? And does not my heart contain the core of who I am?
The wonderful truth is that we are each the author of our own legacy, and we are each the lone author who can tell our stories completely. We can choose what gifts or achievements we leave that will continue to exist long after we die. However we need to tell the stories of our lives rather than let those stories be hidden in closed books. We need to show what is in our hearts for it is those things that give birth to our legacies.
As her presentation was drawing to a close Minke asked a question that I will now ask you. What are your pink shoes?
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