Strange, how we are interested in our past — children delight in stories of their babyhoods, and we grownups want to know our genealogy. Forms exist to make a family tree going as far back as anyone still alive remembers (the old aunt, mother’s longtime friend). People relish in famous ancestors and are proud to bear the name of some general in the Civil War or to be related to a nobleman in France. An ancestor who came to America on the Mayflower is revered, and stories abound of grandparents who arrived in steerage young and penniless and made a fortune, or at least a good enough living to send their children to college. Not only are we fascinated with our past and where we came from, we close the loop by wanting to leave a legacy. For some it is having written a book, for others having been part of a construction crew of a special building, created a sculpture or painting, invented something, raised good children, made a difference in someone’s life — in other words, having left a mark, something of oneself on this earth that immortalizes the fact that one has passed through. For many, there is a wish to leave something to the grandchildren — a memento of something that had some meaning, some significance, and can be passed on. People are encouraged to write their stories or even just write a letter to a grandchild about their accomplishments, memories, hopes for the future, advice or even warnings. Something — anything — that links us to a future generation. Medical records ask for our parents’ and grandparents’ causes of death and any known illnesses, and so we query our still-alive relatives about what they remember that we paid no attention to or were not told. At the same time, we regale our children with “When I was your age, I …” And I’m connected in a strange way to my unknown descendants by worrying about the world they will live in. I worry about global warming — they should not live near a coastline because of the rising oceans and subsequent flooding. I worry about pollution — will their water and food be safe and will the air they breathe be clean? I’m leaving stacks of my writings and CDs of my TV appearances to the grandchildren for their children. (My children have not shown any interest.) They should know who their great-grandparents were. Of course, the CDs will be obsolete and the newsprint will have disintegrated. I’m not worried. I’m leaving something behind, so when I’m dead there will be some fragments left of me — I have been here, remember me, at least light a candle on the anniversary of my death. I do this for my mother and father, and one day a year, I take the time to remember and pray. Many of my friends whose parents have passed away are sorry they did not ask more questions of their history and even sorrier that they did not record or videotape their mother and father. I did it with my mother and found that it is important to ask specific questions in order to trigger memory, such as: What was it like living in the house you grew up in? How involved with you or your siblings were your parents? In what way? Tell me about your school; what kind of student were you? What did you do for fun? What do you remember as wonderful and as awful? How did you get along with your siblings, cousins, friends? How did you meet your spouse? There are questions about childhood, adolescence, young adulthood. Don’t forget to ask how they feel about aging; it might lead to some insights you can use in the future. You can go on to leisure activities, books, food, the impact of political, social and economic changes. How parents felt about having you as a child — their hopes and fears — any surprises? And so we live in the present, aware of our past and of a future in which we will not participate. We thus extend ourselves into the distant past, linked to people long dead, as well as into the distant future, linked to people not yet born.