Yesterday I was thinking about school. I was thinking about all the universities I chose from back when I went to school. I thought about my wife?s school, my friends?, my parents?. It?s just something I do when I?m bored. I thought about all the ones I?d consider now if I could go back in time, and I found myself wondering which one my unborn child will go to someday. But then I remembered how old I am and how long we?ve been trying.
My name will die with me.
Oh sure, there are other McCarsons in the world, but in the classic, nuclear family-centric model, I am the last hope for the continuance of our family name. My parents had two children before they got divorced, my sister and myself. Another boy, that would?ve been named Beau, came between us, but Beau died in my mother?s womb after a miscarriage. Poor Beau.
Maybe Beau was supposed to be the one to carry on our name. I don?t know. I wasn?t born yet. He died well before that happened. He died before he had a chance to see if that was the case. I will have died after I suppose. We all die.
I?m not saying it?s outside the realm of possibility for my wife and I to conceive, or for something else to happen. We want to. We?re trying. We?ve been trying. But hope has spoiled and turned into acceptance as of late. Maybe it?s age. I don?t know. I feel gravity tug down at me more and more every day. It won?t stop until it has me where it wants me. It won?t stop until I?m in the ground. That time is sooner rather than later now. My youth is spent. The hope of a baby McCarson remains tied to the past now. For moments, I forget. But it colors everything I see, hear and feel. It always will.
But a name means something. It still means something, even if it dies with you. Names can live on long after our flesh and bone has turned to dust. A name can live forever in a way, so long as you do something significant enough to be remembered, so long as people care enough to remember you.
Even if it wasn?t forever, it?d be nice to be remembered for a generation or two. Wouldn?t it? That?s something.
But my name dies with me. My name won?t live on like that either. Writers come a dime a dozen. Boxing writers come even cheaper, and the greatest of boxing writers are worlds ahead of me in the race to eternity. But nobody cares about boxing anymore anyway. Nobody cares about writing either.
Herman Melville is my favorite writer. He died penniless, poor and relatively unknown. He was rediscovered sometime later when academia was finally ready to admire his novel, Moby Dick. But my soul has no masterwork within like that. There?s nothing as exceptional or rare brooding about inside of me. No one will discover me long after I?m dead. No one will be looking for me.
No. My name dies with me. Forever.
But there is a certain kind of peace in that, too. For honor does not always travel alongside notoriety, and I?d rather be a good nobody than a bad somebody. I?d rather be forgotten for nothing than remembered for wanting to be forgotten.
History is littered with these types. Some names last forever for all the wrong reasons. Some names aren?t worth having. Some aren?t even worth saying.
I wonder how Floyd Mayweather will be remembered sometimes. He?s as good a fighter who has ever lived, but Mayweather always seems to do the wrong thing. Oh sure, he?s made a bazillion dollars. He?s rich and famous. He?s popular.
But Mayweather could have been so much more. Couldn?t he have been? Can you imagine if Mayweather carried inside of him the disposition of Bernard Hopkins or Evander Holyfield? Can you fathom the fights we would have seen before he headed off into the abyss of history?
Mayweather has a very good resume. He?s defeated notable champions and sure-fire Hall of Famers. But no honest man will tell you he took on all-comers. No one will tell you he pushed himself to his limit. Nobody thinks he?s ever reached his full potential. Nobody thinks he ever will.
It looks as though we?re headed towards Mayweather?s last three fights. The first one, of course, is this Saturday against Marcos Maidana. Mayweather won a majority decision over Maidana in May in a good, competitive bout. He?ll hope to come away unscathed again this time. He probably will.
That leaves two 2015 dates to account for. Mayweather will likely fight in May and September. Assuming he defeats Maidana as expected, and assuming Mayweather is true to his word about retiring, that leaves two opponents for him to select for his final fights.
I wonder if Mayweather will think about his name as he does it. I wonder if he?ll reach for the stars. I wonder if he?ll push himself to his limit. Mayweather will be remembered by boxing fans for years to come. He?s earned that. But I wonder if we?ll remember him as one of the greatest fighters of all-time, or if we?ll still be wondering why he didn?t want to prove it.
But that?s his problem, I guess. So in the end I?m left alone in the dark thinking about other things. I wonder what my kid?s name would?ve been. My wife and I have a list of them still. I found it the other day. It?s old. At the top of the list is ?Madeline?. I always wanted a little girl named Madeline. I would have given anything for her. But I suppose if I?d gotten my wish, my name would?ve died with her anyway.
I would?ve loved that.
