Biography

In second grade this week we are learning about biographies. The students study the lives of some of America's favorite authors, artists, presidents, musicians, sports stars, and civil rights leaders. They also interview a fellow student and write their bio. Inevitably, I get interviewed, too. I always seem to have an odd number of students.
These activities got me thinking. What would I want my real bio to look like? I mean, at the end of it all. When I'm 97, what is it I would liked to have done, seen, been. What sort of character did I fashion out of the raw material I was given by my progenitors? Let's just suppose I've lived a third of my life already. The truth is I may die tomorrow, but for the sake of this entry, let's suppose I die in my nineties. I'd say I'm off to a decent start. I spent my childhood getting into sufficient amounts of trouble, making exactly the wrong sorts of friends, and having a ball. (ha, ha!) But really, I did have a wonderful childhood.
Just yesterday I was telling a true story about kindergarten. For some inexplicable reason when I was five I got it into my head that I had a duty, nay, a mission I had to perform, for the good of humanity and to soothe the curiosity of my own, very voracious and painfully raucous young mind. The project: a dig. I had about ten to twelve little kindergartners under my task mastering hand and voice. I distributed the appropriate number of shovels and buckets. I outlined the plan in some detail: we would dig in a certain area for as long as it would take in order to find one of two things: China or Hell, and we wouldn't be stopping until one of them was located. Little Jason dared to inquire, "But how will we know when we get there?" My expression was probably beyond exasperation at this point. I can see myself smacking my own forehead. "You'll know, Jason, because you will either see Chinese people walking around or you will hear the trumpet of Satan blaring! Now, DIG!" Leaders are born, not groomed.
The kids were digging like little machines. I circulated, checking their work, providing encouragement and occasional reproof. We diligently pursued our goal each day at recess. I was so avid I actually had a hole going at home as well. My vigor knew no bounds. I had my two little brothers digging, too.
I forget how the project lost steam. Both sites gradually lost all attention. We gave in to less intense pursuits: hopscotch, gossip, swings, red rover, jump rope. And now the world will never know what we might have found. The sting of lost dreams is so hard to bare. Alas, I carried on, somehow.