I've got a friend who got a part in the Alamo. That would be the mega film that Disney is pulling off out here in Central Texas. I think everyone in Austin is either in the film or knows someone in the film. Actually not everyone made the cut. Seems the soldiers in those days didn't look like they've grown up on bacon double cheeseburgers and curly fries. They also had to get folks who were keen on letting the pork chop sideburns thicken up. That sent about half of the ladies home. So the cut was of the trim and the untrimmed. Jon is thrilled (as I am for him) that his name, face, and sideburns will be burnt onto celluloid film for all time. It's a great piece of history there, and the grandkids can rent (or download) the film anytime and watch grandpa fight along side of Billy Bob Thornton.
So I was thinking... What will I leave behind? While I have more than I should own, I don't believe that I have that much stuff. (Don't look in the garage) I don't have that much fame. Unless you count the time that I played Rip Van Winkle in the Lake Benton Elementary 5th grade class play. Mom didn't care for it because ol Winkle has act the part of drinking himself into a deep slumber, hence the name "Rip", I guess. I got the lead there and the local paper came out to snap a photo for the front page. It would have been a great photo except I didn't take off the fake beard. Oh well.
A legacy is a funny thing. It's a picture that is bound in the mind and memory of anyone who cares. If you were a generally decent fellow/feline, the memories tend to exaggerate you to sainthood. If you were a scoundrel, you'll be remembered in the same breath as Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, or Hillary Clinton. Ahh but if you're remembered as a man/woman after God's own heart, there isn't a Nobel Prize winner that can touch that.