Again...with Lincoln...

I was having a conversation last night with some friends about the last Lincoln descendent.  We couldn't remember when this person died.  Turns out it was in the 1980s.  The next rational question we posed, of course, was if there was a possibility that somewhere some of Lincoln's DNA has been frozen for posterity.  Maybe a hair from his sideburns hidden inside his top hat now lives in a hermetically sealed chest made out of diamonds.  Maybe at some point it would be very important to know we could get our hands on some Lincoln whiskers.  Not us personally--my friends and I are not very smart with such matters--but someone.  Maybe someone who was in the middle of figuring out something important.

Then of course the thought of being the great-great-whatever of Abraham Lincoln was overwhelming to us.  Could you ever focus on anything else?  Would it be possible for you to play the piano, go to the bathroom, or be a good speller, without whipping out this fact?  Even if it was only in the descendent's head, just pure knowledge floating around in there, while making pancakes.  I bet the knowledge would have the tendency to just creep up, kind of scare the hell out of him.  Like a floater in the eye...little Abraham Lincoln mouth smiling while he waves, temporarily obstructing the pancake he's flipping.  I don't know that I could concentrate on anything else.  Generic oppressive potential for human improvement is enough, but genetic?  Holy smokes.

I've certainly heard about the "skipped generation" with "great people".  Maybe the son of someone spectacular is impressive, but the next one--exhausted by the lineage--kind of decides to be a complete loser.  At least unremarkable.

Can we decide to be unremarkable?  Can we decide to be remarkable?

Since I have no idea what I'm talking about, not having a presidential great-grand parent, I don't know the answer to that.  I do know that in my family: my mother's grandmother was some kind of gypsy.  She helped orphaned children.  My mother apparently used to give blood religiously, and I have an Uncle who had a fairly successful polka band.  I love all these people, and would hope in my actions to make them proud.  Choosing to be unremarkable for me I suppose would be choosing not to try.  Try to...to be a good person, do the right thing.  Honestly, who is not trying to do the right thing?  Even if one's idea of right is horribly confused, because what is more confusing than "right", I think the basic principles of humanity (want of connection, love, acceptance) apply.  People don't set out to be complete assholes.  Not that I know of.  It happens along the way sometimes.  I haven't chosen to hate polka because I know I'll never play the tuba very well, as well as my Uncle.  I'm fine with polka, even if I don't celebrate it.  I have many cassettes.  No player, but I do own cassettes.  This is something.

I'm finishing writing this without looking anything up because I want to go off of what I remember.  I recall that Lincoln's life in politics was stuttered and difficult before he got what he wanted.  I believe I read somewhere there were 11 failed attempted before he was elected.  I like the number 11, so I will choose to remember 11.  What he did in his life seemed super-human, impossible, remarkable, magic.  Boiled down he was just damned stubborn.  I'm trying to think of doing anything I really want to do 11 times and then trying again for # 12.  Remarkable.  I would think that's choosing to be remarkable.

The skill of my lineage is stubbornness.  Not Lincoln's variety--but I know we're flooded with the stuff.  We just don't do anything anyone tells us to do.  Not without struggle, anyway.  I don't know that it's healthy or even normal, but today it makes me feel closer to Lincoln then I've ever felt.  I'll know I'll never grow a beard that distinct, but I can remember the number 11, and try again.

Because what if he didn't?

~ B