My worst fear in life is not what it used to be. I used to fear becoming just like my Dad; I have for the most part gotten past that. My worst fear now—and growing stronger with age—is being forgotten. I want to be one of those guys who—after he’s dead and gone—is remembered fondly by others (outside of the family). I am too shy to ask for attention, which is the reason I write and publish; it requires less effort from me, and my written words will outlive me, whether anyone notices or not. I also hope that by writing about it, I will find resolution.
My bashful childhood desire to not be noticed has worked entirely too well I’m afraid; I was a wallflower and still tend toward that today. Blending into the background was a survival tactic in Grade school (to keep from being noticed by my tormentors—too timid to fight back)—a habit that persisted throughout my teenage and young adult years. This may be why I was afraid of playing the banjo in a way that would draw notice (though I knew how).
I am not a particularly outspoken or charismatic guy. My talents are many, but nothing special in the grand scheme of things (“Jack of all trades—master of none”); I want my talents to “speak for themselves,” but I fear they are not quite good enough to catch and hold attention (without my speaking for it). Since I don’t smile and jump around while playing or throw my banjo in the air at the end of a song, I suppose I am visually uninteresting. I tend to be quiet and unobtrusive, even when I am trying to get the attention of others. I don’t jump up and down screaming “look at me!” (I abhor self-promotion, in myself and others).
I am well aware that we all have so much to pay attention to and need to be “smacked up-side the head” to notice things that are outside our necessarily-narrow vision. I’m afraid I operate under that attention radar for the most part, despite my best efforts!
In my long military career, I was one of those guys who toiled quietly in the background, working hard but hardly being noticed. I suppose that wearing a camouflage uniform and abiding by the rules didn’t help any! I failed to attract the attention of those in charge (not good enough, not a squeaky-enough wheel. . .who knows?), so I did not get very far rank-wise; it used to really bug me, but now that I’m retired, it’s all good.
The funny thing is, I am mostly okay with this! I understand the mechanics of lasting “fame,” and realize that I lack whatever it is that would bring it to me (banjo playing certainly won’t!). “If you want to be remembered, do something worth remembering!” I tell myself this, but then realize that I am doing everything I am capable of doing and—in the final analysis—that will have to do. I’m not in charge of “being remembered”; that’s in the memories of others.
I believe I speak for many people on this issue! Who doesn’t want to be fondly remembered? Of course I want to be remembered, and I’m not embarrassed to say it (I’m not looking for pity—only understanding)! At the very least, I don’t want to be forgotten.