Randomly

Most of us don’t know our grandparents. We barely know our parents. By knowing, I mean of course, know them as persons. What we know of them, is how they want themselves to be known to us. Public Relations begins at home and proximity is no guarantee for candour. In fact, quite the contrary, proximity is the best way to spin and skew. For it blurs objective analysis. We almost never get to know the other’s version of a story. Love for family may not entirely be blind, but definitely is blinkered.     

Wouldn't it be great, if we had access to a lot of things that our grandparents did in their lifetime? In the form of letters, pictures, videos. A more meaty account than the nostalgia-peppered, dew-eyed version that is orally handed down from one generation to the next.

For example, if I were to believe my father, my grandfather had once tried to open a bakery, and at the end of the first day, disappointed that no customer was supportive enough of his endeavour, ate all his biscuits alone and came back home that evening. The story sounds disingenuous and perhaps is (which means someone in the family was a good spinner of yarn). And yet, somehow – even for a failed endeavour – it has never been completely denied. Like a harmless, charming wish, it floats down gently, finding its place in the family lore. I would like to know more what my grandparents were up to, but there’s nothing except the frustratingly watered-down versions of my own parents.

But all that will change in the future. First time in the history of mankind, we have so much of our personal life events and correspondences, recorded and stored in the form of e-mails, videos, pictures (ah those pesky, pretty pictures), that it is virtual treasure-trove for anyone who might be interested in knowing more about their own family’s past. And not just the headlines, but the complete story, without any sugarcoating, or third-party intervention, with all the vulnerability and unkindness bubbling up on to the surface.            

Should you have a will (the one we’ve seen people in movies make when they’re dying), would you have the courage to also reveal your password, so that posterity can judge you for the person you were? It may seem silly but to me it’s as noble an act as donating your eyes.