Charlie Sheen's kids may be too young to understand Daddy's crazy rantings and ravings now, but one day they will. Rest assured there will be a place in the history books (or more accurately, the internet) where we can always go to relive these 'special moments' he's sharing with the world.
He arrived on this earth with a unique legacy--the child of a Hollywood star, coupled with the talent and connections to step into that world. There aren't a lot of folks who can claim that kind of leg up. Sure, if your dad was an orthodontist, you might get free braces. But the triumverate of fame, fortune and genetic talent are pretty rare.
Everyone stumbles; everyone screws up. We all do things we aren't proud of. But when you believe your own press--or tweets--and you get so full of yourself that you think the choices you make have no consequences? I continue to feel sorry for these kids--4 under the age of 5--who, please, dear Lord, are hopefully oblivious to the legacy he's leaving for them. Maybe they'll inherit the genetic talent, and a few bucks--if anyone is really interested in him making Major League 3.
In complete contrast to the antics playing out in every form of media imaginable with Mr. Sheen, I had the privilege of going to an amazing memorial service this week to celebrate the life of a woman whose legacy will long outlast her. To my knowledge she never starred in a television show and made $2 million dollars an episode. But ultimately her value far outweighs and outlasts that of the brightest Hollywood star.
It has me thinking about the kind of legacy I want to leave. How do I want to be remembered--but more importantly, what kind of person do I want to be in the here and now when I can enjoy it? Sure, they can all gather around the jello salad in the fellowship hall when I'm gone, and talk about how sad it is to see me go (or at least I hope they will). But wouldn't it nice to have more?
Mrs. Betty was the matriarch at my childhood church. She was one of a crew of ladies who raised me, and a passel of other kids who used that church as their second home. (It isn't often I have the opportunity to use the word 'passel', but it is appropriate in this case).
Because before kids had their schedules packed with travel teams, lessons, camps and playdates--family social lives, at least where I grew up, revolved around the church. You might have a stray dance lesson here or there, but for the most part, if the doors were open and there was an ice cream social going on, that's where you'd be.
So more than a few generations of kids grew up under the tutelage of Mrs. Betty, and whatever other parents happened to see you sneak behind the pews to do something you probably shouldn't be doing. There was never any differentiation between their kids and you; no one worried about whether or not they should reprimand another child. Of course they should.
So while Mrs. Betty raised her own crew of boys, she also rocked generations of babies in the nursery and returned them to their parents smelling of her perfume. She hosted the youth group at her house even when she didn't have a teenager.
And get this. You moms will know how crazy this sounds. She and Mr. George had a pool, and all you had to do on any given summer day was call and ask if you could come over swimming. And she would say, "Well, sure! Come on!" You could swim all day at Mrs. Betty's pool, and she'd even feed you.
What? She'd have children to her house to play when she DIDN'T HAVE TO? And FEED THEM? Now granted, I'm not sure Capri Suns were around yet and it was the time of ten-cent Kool-Aid packets, but still. What kind of craziness can come from such a thing?
A legacy. A legacy of love and kindness and giving. And in turn, a legacy of gratitude, from the packed-out church full of people who came to show their thanks to Mrs. Betty this week. Generations were raised by Mrs. Betty, and others like her, who are willing to give of themselves beyond what is expected.
Let's just say that Charlie Sheen doesn't even have a clue what Tiger Blood is. Mrs. Betty--now that lady had some Tiger Blood. Who cares if you have a million Twitter followers waiting to see you fall? Legacy means having a community who grows up watching you share and give of yourself, and live out Christ's love every day, and who can then point to that example and say what I do:
That's the kind of legacy I want to leave.
