So I was sitting on the bus a few minutes ago and I was thinkin. I've been 16 for a little more than a month now, but it feels like it's been a lot longer than that. But a month isn't really that long. So then I thought, "Well, what else happened a month ago?.......Nothing. Well, nothing worth remembering, anyway." And then I wondered, "Well, what is worth remembering?" I looked out my window and saw a flag on someone's porch roof fluttering in the breeze. "Is that worth remembering?" I saw a lonesome brown leaf hanging on the end of a tree, having not only survived its own spring, summer, and fall but also the harsh and unyielding winter, and now gets to see another spring. Is that worth remembering? How about David, the funny hispanic boy on my bus who cheerfully says, "Bye!" to everyone as the get off, laughing when they ignore him and saying, "They must tink they too cool for us." Is he worth remembering? Is Mary, the bus driver who used to be a truck driver who wears the same pink hat everyday and always greets me as I get on the bus worth remembering? Is the tangle of plastic in the branches of a tree on King Rd. worth remembering? Is the 3-car Septa train that passed next to us for a few seconds going in the opposite direction worth remembering? How about the squirrel that hopped casually along in my neighbor's front yard? Is that worth remembering? Is the stray cat living in the junk pile left behind by the family that used to live in my house worth remembering? Is this new grass that has never seen spring before and never will again worth remembering?
Am I worth remembering?
And then I got to thinking some more. I don't want to be forgotten, but why would anyone remember me? Sure I'm chipper and friendly, and usually good for a "Hey!" and a nice convo, but I'm not particularly special. People don't even remember the name of the man who said, "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country." or the circumstances under which he said it. So why should anyone remember little insignificant me? I'll probably be the grandmother my descendants talk about fondly to uncaring and uninterested children, the way my mom sometimes talks about her grandparents who I can't remember. So I suppose now I want to do something for people to remember me by. But then I think of good old Mr. Hale and realize that regardless of what I do, I will at some point be completely forgotten, as will everyone else in the world. It's kind of sad. In a couple hundred years, there will probably be no remnants of me or anyone else I know. We will be lost in history that will never again be found. No one will know about us, or the things we did or said, or the people we loved, or the things we enjoyed doing. And probably no one will care, either. But oh, well. That's life.