I’m here to do something.

Henry Ford, John Rockefeller, JFK, Babe Ruth, Bill Gates, Benjamin Franklin, Jesus Christ, yada, yada, yada and the list goes on as far as it is varied in the reasons why the names are there to begin with.

Each and everyone of their lives had obvious meaning but what about me, what’s my life’s meaning? My footprint? I’m nobody special, I have never done anything to be globally remembered. Am I destined to be the footprint that the sand will blow over and cover before long?

What if the meaning of my life has already been taken care of? What if when I was in grade six, when I kicked a kid in my class in the nuts – who was following me and a friend to closely – and ruptured one of his testicles. What if that prevented him from having kids and reproducing.

I don’t know where he is now or even where he was the next year. I think his name was Steven, he moved away pretty soon after that . Our class got him a New Kids on the Block cassette (1988) as a going away present so he may not have been planning to have kids anyway.

What if that was it, my one contribution to the world, for better or for worse, that was why I am here, and now I’m coasting through life with no real direction because my calling has been answered.

You know what I think? I think there is plenty of time left *knocks on wood* for me to push ahead and forge a new destiny for myself. Something great, a lasting legacy and if all else fails I could shoot the President.

But would that be better than being a forgotten name and an even longer forgotten face? Known in infamy, not fame. Probably not., I wouldn’t want to be someone like Lee Harvey Oswald and James Wilks Booth yet their memories, at least in name, live on.

What if that annoying kid with the NKOTB cassette in sixth grade can still have kids?