this grandiose idea we’ve fattened up as a society into a moment of monumentous action, taken note of in the history books. 

Our “great” nation, imparted words that have existed since victory rang from Lexington and Concord, implying consistently through our bloodlines that greatness is large and means to shift the very fabric of history. 
And yet, I’ve seen greatness in the small acts of a singular man existing in a meager part of the world. 
He was accomplished, had many medals and awards from years of educating and coaching, yet nothing that would be weaved into the threads of human existence.
But for the privileged circle that surrounded him, you saw greatness.
Greatness in how he could hold gazes through his wit alone, how he strove to enrich the academic endeavors of all and not just his loyal few, how he lifted others of his field with the rally cry of “Never let the bastards keep you down,” how he saw the potential in you that you were blind too… how his presence is missed by those he knew.
And though eons from now in the mass ether of dust and ash this will be a speck in the great void, a smidgen in the great expanse of humanity, he is still an epitome of greatness,
for his endeavors were driven by care for others and a love for his craft, not to be remembered in the annuals of history, and isn’t there greatness in that?
 
(For Kent, a mentor and a friend)