This article was written in January of this year, if I recall correctly:
I’ve been keeping a journal since I was a senior in high school. For the most part, I just write down a bit of what took place during the day. I promise you this; you would not be interested in reading it. Boring. I even get bored when I re-read most entries. But, I do it because I have this corny little dream that after I’m deceased (and stalking my kids and wife from the heavens…if I even make it there…) my family will gather weekly and thrill over the opportunity to pour over my journals and discover the golden ideas and illuminating writing from…well…me. Unfortunately, I don’t think these journals are going to be my ticket to this happening. Instead, they’ll sit around a table, read a few entries together, and someone will say, “Wow. Dad really took the boring, everyday details of his blandly ordinary life pretty seriously…”
But everything changed this Christmas.
For Christmas, my sweetheart gave me a little booklet with 365 questions for me to answer concerning my childhood. At first I didn’t think much of it (I was thankful of course, but I figured I’d just use it as a notepad or something…) but soon I hatched a pretty worthwhile idea. I would take the little book, copy each question onto my computer, and then type out my answers. After I finished all of the questions, I’d gather the answers into a book and have it professionally printed and bound and purchase copies for each one of my children. The questions are pretty good and interesting and will illicit some pretty entertaining answers. One questions prompts me to describe a big lie I told as a child. Another one asks about a time I smashed a finger. Another asks me about how my parents used to discipline (I thoroughly enjoyed re-living that memory).
I spent a good portion of Christmas Break hunched over my laptop, dutifully typing witty answers to these 365 questions. By the last weekend of the break, I had answered 35 questions. Needing to take a break and rest my fingers, I determined to test the waters a bit and find out how my oldest son felt about the future opportunity to read these well-written, folksy, and newly archived memories.
I described my project to Landon and then waited to see his excitement. Instead of wrapping his arms around my waist and thanking me for my week-long sacrifice he cocked his head to the side and asked, “Did you say 365 questions?”
Me: “Yes, 365 questions and answers that you guys will really enjoy reading when you’re older. By the time you read this, you’ll know everything about me.”
Landon: “You’ll never make it.”
Me: “What is that supposed to mean? You don’t think I can answer 365 questions?”
Landon: “You’ll be dead before you finish…”
I’m still going to finish the book, but none of my kids are getting a copy….