I really did try to get this out last week, Livia, really I did. But I didn’t, and now this post has become bloated in size just like all of the others. *sigh*
I didn’t know how to categorize this first link, so I’ll just let it stand alone above the cut.
There’s an inscription: “I’m sitting on the back of a man. He is sinking under the burden. I would do anything to help him. Except stepping down from his back.”
One of the unexpected pleasures of going home for Christmas was going through my dad’s boxes boxes upon boxes of old files. There was almost nothing of sentimental value, just portfolios for projects long past. Still, it was fascinating to scan through the reams of paper. Scraps of handwritten notes, names of coworkers that I barely recognized, the places where my father went for business. The barest of glimpses into the life my father had outside of the home.
I saved a folio for myself, a momento of the work my father poured his life into, but which I never really understood. The rest of the files are marked to be shredded; after all, what purpose do they now serve? If I really want to be reminded of my father’s legacy, I need merely look in the mirror.
Changing gears a bit, digging through my father’s boxes made me a little bit sad about the transition to the digital age. My father had saved hundreds (thousands?) of work files. Mostly computer printouts, but they were at least physical and tactile and you could skim through the odd page or three. Me? I will leave behind hundreds (thousands?) of gigabytes of data, which frankly, makes for a much less enjoyable sorting experience.
I would also be sorely remiss to not mention that my father’s legacy includes (and perhaps more importantly, includes) the rest of my immediate family and his family and friends. It just makes for terribly clunky writing that I am not quite good enough to de-clunkify.
