I'm not the kid of guy who regularly reads the obits, but an old school chum told me our sixth grade teacher had died. When I heard this, I shuffled through the newspaper forging the top stories of house fires, miracle cures and alien sightings in search of the recently deceased. There, below the death of a salesman -- the person not the play -- was a black and white photo of Mrs. Fulker (who had a more colorful nickname if I recall). Her whole life had been nicely summed up in a sixty-three word paragraph -- she had been a teacher, wife, member of the church choir, etc., etc. This all seemed lovely but rather mundane. Surely the woman had done something more than sing Amazing Grace and harp at twelve year olds. She must have, at some point, been a little crazy and jumped out of airplane or started an Internet port site.
As I thought of the dearly departed Mrs. Fulker, I questioned my own life; what had I done that was really worth mentioning? As a person grows older and more content with his ways, does he lose the spark that once ignited him, or do others simply forget the person he once was? When it comes to how we will be remembered, can we ensure we are more than words on a page? What will our epitaphs be?
Mrs. Fulkner seemed older than dirt when I was a kid. She must not have been if she made it this long. I don't remember much about her, as she wasn't my homeroom teacher, but I do remember a sparkle in her eye. I bet she has some of those stories to which you refer. I, too, hope that I never fall into the mundane and ordinary - at least not for too long. Adventure calls. :-)
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