as we live it

  Perhaps the greatest gift one can give another person is a memory. We all want to be remembered in one way or another. We will be remembered by what we leave behind. The Egyptians built pyramids, left behind and certainly remembered. But the vast majority of physical and material things disappear with time. In fact there is a whole field of study devoted to finding those things again, it's called archeology. But memories, memories they say can last forever. The truth is they only last as long as the person carrying that memory, a memory is always in the first person. When they are otherwise, they are called stories. One of the reasons I write these memories of mine. The number of people I have first person memories with, as far as my childhood days, grow fewer each passing year. My youth is slowly turning into a story to be told by someone else. The biggest hope is that there will be someone left that cares enough to repeat those stories. That is what we call, legacy. It is what we left behind. And for many of us, I believe the majority in fact, it is also our heritage. My stories, a few dusty artifacts, and a collection of old photographs will be the inheritance of future generations, unless of course, I win the lottery.                                                                                                                                                           It is my feeling that my heritage has been left behind. That process began in 1971 when I stepped aboard that Long Island railroad train, heading west , to Ft. Hamilton in New York City. I was bound for the Navy, a destination that eventually wound up as a career. What I didn't realize was I was leaving my youth behind, the place of my inheritance becoming just a memory for me, stories to tell to others. My wife, my children, and whatever friends and acquaintances I enjoy these days know little of that time in my life. They only know what they have been told by me and a few brief encounters with my family. Heritage is the traditions, customs, and valued objects passed down from previous generations. But personal heritage is a bit more defined than that. That heritage is your memories, even when those memories have been polished with time to assume a luster they never really had. It is that heritage that we all wish to pass down.                                                                                                                                  It is what has been called the roots of our raising. For me, my parents were raised in the same town where they were born, their parents before them where born there as well. There were roots there that could be followed and could lead you to an actual living person. Cousins, second cousins, in-laws and all the other branches were there. It wasn't that my parents followed any of those branches, but they were there. It was just a sense of belonging there. And then I left. I can't help but wonder about the heritage I have provided for my own children. When they were little we moved around, military brats they call them. Truth is they never lived on a Navy base, or any military base for that matter. They knew my job was, in the Navy, but I don't think it effected them all that much. I would be gone for months on end though, so it must have had some influence. Along about 1988 or so, the years escape me now, I moved them to Greensboro, Md. I had gotten assigned to a ship in Earle, New Jersey. Now being a boy from Long Island I had prejudices against New Jersey. The people there can't drive a car worth a crap and they are all rude people, and the crime, the crime in New Jersey is horrible. I knew I would be going to sea and so having them living in New Jersey was out of the question. My wife knew of the "eastern shore" of Maryland. We left the kids with her sister while we went and explored the area. I was immediately reminded of my own hometown without the beaches or the high cost of housing. We discovered Greensboro, population 2000, one stop light and an IGA. Seemed perfect and we have been here ever since. So I'd have to say that is the heritage my boys carry with them, although I have never asked. One son found his love on the internet and moved to upstate New York where he lives today. His brother is still here, the Mayor of Greensboro! And there is a story to tell. I would never have dreamed I would leave home only to bring Greensboro Maryland a new Mayor. It's been quite a winding road, as the Beatles may describe it.                                                                                                                                    Now the grandkids are beginning their journeys. Mark is already off to college, living on his own in an apartment in Reistertown, Maryland. His own address, a milestone not unnoticed by myself. Morgan a senior this year and making her plans for college. Anxious to get out in the world and leave childhood behind. I remember the feeling. I have been blessed and fortunate indeed to have had both of them right here with me in Greensboro. Greensboro is there beginning and Grandpa has always been here! That will be their memory of growing up. My other granddaughter Shyann is also a senior this year. She hasn't shared her plans for the future just yet. But she lives in Oneonta New York a far larger city than Greensboro and I'm certain full of opportunities. She may very well remain there. Mark, I fear, will be forced by economics to leave Greensboro. Just as it was in the town I lived in as a child there isn't much opportunity for employment. You do have to look elsewhere. Morgan will face the same dilemma. As for me, I talk often of moving and perhaps I will one day. I severed my roots in 1971. It's not a bad thing or a good thing, it's just a thing. Something we call life. It's just life as we live it. It's best to go one day at a time, that's my experience.