Theme Week 2

1620, Provincetown, Massachusetts. Aboard the Mayflower, the first child was born into the new world. His name was Peregrine White. Who know that after centuries, one branch of the 'White' name would end with me. Of course the genes are still the same. I will still be passing my, and Peregrine's characteristics on, but they will now be labeled Douglass.
It makes me wonder how long it will take for the 'White' name to dissipate completely.
Thinking about my ancestors historical significance, I try to recall important happenings during my existence. Where I was when they occurred? I suppose some great things have happened during my 23 years of existence, but none of them compare to Peregrine's.
When Bill Clinton was elected, my kindergarten class did a mock election. I don't remember who I voted for. Then he was impeached. I didn't know what that meant.
The ice storm of '98 stole electricity from an unprecedented number of homes, including mine. My siblings were devastated that they could not watch TV or play on our new 'cutting edge' personal computer. I pretended I was living in the colonial days and wrote in my journal by candlelight.
Then came the turn of the century. My family and I hiked to the top of a near-by mountain. Our intentions were to witness the moment that Y2K wiped out power to surrounding towns. It never happened.
September 11th, 2001 I was sitting in my 7th grade social studies class when our school's Athletic Director came in and said, 'The twin towers have been hit by a plane.' I remember thinking, 'Okay, thanks for sharing'. I didn't even know what the twin towers were. It wasn't until I got home from school and turned on the TV to get my daily MTV fix that I realized the gravity of what had happened.
Many epic moments have happened during my life, but overall, I am just a speck in the long line of Peregrine White descendants. Similar to being just another passing car on the highway, or just another customer at the grocery store.
But I am no speck to the child I helped to learn their colors. I am no speck to the grandmother who commissioned me to sketch her grandson. No, everytime she looks at that sketch, she will think of the artist.  Maybe she will even pass it on to the subject and them to their children and so on. Or maybe they will love it so much, they will in turn get sketches of their own children. Perhaps one day a descendant of mine will be bragging about how their related to the great Felicia Douglass. Or maybe they will just discover their relation to Peregrine like I did.