Legacy

I know that my great-grandfather was a barber in New York, but I couldn’t tell you his name or for that matter, the name of his wife, my great-grandmother. He lived less than 100 years ago and even I can’t tell you anything about him despite having more of an incentive to remember him than almost anyone else in the world. Even family will eventually forget who you are.

However, that doesn’t mean we have to go quietly into history. If nothing else, we can leave something behind to entertain our descendants. With that in mind, I offer my children’s children’s children (I’m assuming of course that I will eventually get a date with someone, but given the wide array of pick-up lines at my disposal, I think I can make some assumptions) the following letter, a time capsule of sorts, to help them remember me:

Dear McCloskey descendants,

If you’re reading this, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? I mean, I suppose I should congratulate you on surviving the inevitable war against the machines, but seriously, don’t you have anything better to do than read this two-dimensional letter on some horribly outdated computer that must slow your genetically engineered minds down to the point of absurdity? As we say in my time, that is WACK. OK, I’m the only one who still says that, but still. My point is, don’t bother remembering me—go outside and live your lives. The best way to remember your ancestors is to be happy.

Love,

Great Grand Pappy T-Mac