The WRONG Holly Jacobs
Rumor has it that a certain professor feels I'm the wrong Holly Jacobs.
Okay, you're scratching your head. Let me back up. For a classroom assignment, a professor told his class to write an obituary, then assigned them a person to write it about and assured them that they could find enough info on Google to do write their obit. A girl named Kristi was assigned...Holly Jacobs. She googled the name and...there I was. 96 out of the first 100 entries were about me. And Kristi wrote my obit. I died on Lake Erie in March. Now, she didn't mention how I died on the lake, but I'm sure I was doing something exciting. March...on the lake. Hmm. I was probably ice fishing and caught a whale of a fish. Now, you probably think I'm going to say the fish pulled me in, but no. I was so excited about that fish that I did one of my goofy, Snoopy dances of joy...on ice. I slipped, hit my head and died. Sad, isn't it? I digress.
Anyway, Kristi wrote a lovely obit. Talked about my tragic death, the family I left behind (and would someone please tell my son, I forgive him for leaving so many clothes on the floor that I haven't seen his carpet in months), and the books I've written, and was about to write. It was nice to see my life summed up by someone else. She turned it in to the professor, and he gave it back without a grade. When Kristi asked about it, he told her, "You've got the wrong Holly Jacobs."
Now, I'll confess, I've always felt like the right Holly Jacobs. But maybe I was wrong. So I called someone who should know... my mom. She assured me that after being in labor for thirty-eight hours with me, she was positive I was the right Holly Jacobs. I asked my husband, he asked if I wasn't the right Holly, did he have to pay alimony? Then he asked, what's the other Holly look like? Oh, yeah, I married a funny man. Friends and children assured me of my rightness. And of course, my dog, Ethel Merman, thinks I'm the right one. But I wasn't right enough for Kristi's professor.
I feel guilty. As if the ten years of my writing life haven't been quite enough to make me the right Holly Jacobs. That maybe I should have worked harder, written more, done something else in order to be the right Holly Jacobs. But alas, I didn't, and poor Kristi has to pay the price for my slacking with a gradeless obituary. SIGH.
Poor Kristi, I was the wrong Holly Jacobs.
My poor mom, who was in labor for an absurd amount of time in order to bring...the wrong Holly into the world.
My poor husband...okay, so he's not going to be poor if he can get away without paying alimony and the other Holly's better looking.
My poor kids, maybe that other Holly would have been a better mother? Maybe she wouldn't have nagged my son about those dirty clothes on the floor?
Poor Ethel Merman, she still thinks I'm the right Holly, but she's a dog, and not overly bright, so what does she know?
And that poor professor, who, if he met me might find he liked me and even if I wasn't the right Holly Jacobs, I was certainly worth of an obituary.
Geesh. Talk about questioning your existence.
The wrong Holly Jacobs.