Well, so much for being better about maintaining my blog. Ah well. Let’s try this again. I just wanted to kick off 2012 with something a little different. This is a short story that I wrote in my pocket notebook on a whim a while back when I was sitting alone at a coffee shop because a friend forgot about our meeting. It’s pathetically sentimental and a far cry from my best work, but there is certainly a quality about it that conveys something special. What you get out of it is up to you, I suppose, though my intentions behind it were mainly to convey the fact that there are more important things than being remembered. God bless and I hope you all have a great year.
A Story I Very Nearly Forgot About
By J. D. H. Thigpen
There once was a boy that was forgotten. That is not to say that no one
remembered him, but simply that people had a tendency to forget about him.
I would tell you his name, but I am afraid I have forgotten it. But at least I have
remembered his story. It went something rather like this.
Forgotten Tom, as we will call him for narrative purposes, was like any other boy
living in any small town. He had good parents, a good school record, and he was even
very talented at football. His only problem was that, somehow, he was easy to forget.
Of course this frustrated him sometimes. He did not mind so much when his
friends forgot about his birthday, or when girls forgot about meeting him for dinner;
he was used to that sort of thing. It was more frustrating, however, when the
announcer forgot to call his name at his highschool graduation, or when he missed his
chance to get into the NFL because the scouts had forgotten who he was.
So it was for Forgotten Tom. Yet life went on. He gathered a good deal of
achievements under his belt. He graduated with honours from Johns Hopkins
University (that announcer forgot his name too). He was the first doctor to perform a
certain type of heart surgery (I cannot remember the name of it, I’m afraid). He was’
a fifth degree blackbelt in karate. He would have been a best-selling author, had his
co-author not conveniently forgotten to add his name on the final manuscript.
He became a very impressive person, yet still people tended to forget him.
So it was that poor Forgotten Tom came to the end of his long and accomplished
life. There he lay, forgotten in a hospital bed, wishing that just one person would
remember him, when a young woman whom he did not recognize came to visit.
“I don’t know if you remember me” she said, “but I will always remember what
you did for me.”
She was the baby he had performed his first surgery on. Tom smiled at the
beautiful girl whose life he had once saved and said: “I remember you.” At last
Forgotten Tom realized that it is better to remember than to be remembered.