On a bike ride through East End Park a few Sundays ago, there was a softbound book that had most of its pages ripped out. They were blown and scattered about the park grounds like a tree shedding leaves.

I thought maybe a youngster, on his last day of school, “celebrated” the occasion by massacring this piece of literature to a pulp and becoming a literary litterbug. Leaving behind one of his last reading assignments for all of us to pick up and put in the trash.

It was tempting to stop and pick up a page or two and read its contents, but I didn’t. I knew I couldn’t stop there; I’d have to find others to link the chapters and content. I just didn’t have the time to read or pick up the 200 pages to put in the garbage can.

What the person didn’t realize was that book, and its torn out pages parallel our lives. Each page represents a day in the life. Each chapter constitutes a month. Every few chapters can amount to a year. And if done right, a complete book can tell the story of our doings on planet earth. That’s called an autobiography.

Some Webb readers thought I negated on commenting on the graduating class of 2018. I didn’t — it’s going to be given here and now. My advice to the current crop of wide-eyed grads from both high school and college is to start keeping track of your lives with a daily journal. Oh, and don’t litter.

Each morning when you wake up, or each night you go to bed, jot a few notes via paragraphs of how your day went. What made you happy or sad. Highlight the special days such as birthdays, family trips or gatherings. First dates, family drama, sporting events, amazing weather or sunsets. Did the dog bite the mailman? Did your sister smash the family car?

Don’t hold back in your assessments. They all count in the grand scheme of things as you’ll find out later.

When the years and subsequent decades pass, and you go back to review what you wrote, you probably will be amused at how things in life change. Unless you are Peter Pan, you aren’t the same person at age 12 versus 32. And then 42. And wait till 52! I know this for a fact (unfortunately) because I’ve kept a journal since age 12. For some strange reason, it was important for me to “keep track” of what was going on with me and around me.

It’s painful to venture back at some of the things and joyful to discover other lost nuggets of life gone by. To read passages of victorious track meets and tennis matches, and how now I can’t do that anymore is a testament to how the body can deteriorate. Others: I wasn’t a strong believer in God during my adolescent years, but now I feel his presence, a “higher power” has to be responsible for many things I have accomplished and/or overcome. I pray now more than ever.

My tastes in certain things (not just food) have evolved, or dissolved, depending on your opinion. It’s also rewarding to read back at all the picnics, sleepovers, family reunions, overnight trips, various girlfriends, and the misdemeanors of youth gone by.

It’s not pleasant to review the family spats, the lonely nights, the pain of surgeries, the deaths of friends or relatives, or even pets. Being handwritten, some notes are scrawled as if I was enduring an earthquake.

But each day, each page, has to be written, not skipped. Each chapter has to be complete. My advice when you begin your life’s book — if you are too tired or busy to write at the end of the day, do it the next day. You can load onto a computer disc, but I would fear it could crash or get lost. No, you want to be able to take your personal “logbook” to the beach, the backyard, or the bathroom. Hold it and cherish it!

The whole purpose of this is to have purpose. It lets you vent. It can show progression. And it’s a private place where you and only you can go. Not many places exist like that anymore. Last time I checked, 30 acres in the Himalayas or Swiss Alps weren’t cheap. A notebook and pen sets you back a mere $6.00.

After my mother’s passing, I discovered some of her private passages put down on paper. I decided to compare a certain “my day” with “her day.” In other words, a date we spent mutual time together. An example would be going to a car show, “Happy to be going on a road trip with Gerry Jr. today. The weather was sunny and nice out. Had a good time meeting new people. Ate at the Back Door Cafe in downtown Carlisle. Delicious lunch. Wish Gerry didn’t drive so fast, always in a rush.”

Hmmm. I didn’t think I was going THAT fast! But my notes of the same day at the same place concur. It was a good day to be alive and enjoy a day trip with her!

Other times she would write about enjoying a new book, planting new things in the garden, or making us something new for dinner. Obviously, she felt it was important to keep these things remembered. I must note my mother never suffered any memory loss or dementia. Perhaps these writing exercises help the brain not only to present the current events but to preside over the past ones as well. She was a busy woman, but writing down personal items was essential to keeping her inner peace. I often wonder if her mother, Victoria, kept one.

Holding her valued words in my hands gives me a calmness. Keep this in mind as someday someone might be reading your thoughts after you punch out.

I hope the youth, the graduates of this year, aren’t overlooking this. It’s simple to do, it’s rewarding, and it really has no boundaries. To put dreams down on paper and then realize they came true decades later is incredible. If they didn’t pan out, and you dig deep enough, there’s probably a reason why.

If this generation is “all about me,” then keeping a written journal should be right up their alley. I mean selfish thoughts should only stay in certain places, right? What better spot than your “book of life.” Feels good being an author, even though it’s not getting published and can’t be found on a bookshelf.

On my last days on earth, I doubt you’ll find me in a park, tearing out pages of each year of my life for others to bask or balk at. Not my style. But if I did, you’d find non-fiction at its fullest. Some years would bore you to tears. Others might terrify you. It can arouse and engulf. But for now, for my eyes only. I have noticed the writing was longer and more precise years ago. The current stuff is terse and tight. I guess the bifocals haven’t helped. And the 75-hour workweeks force me to bed earlier. In your 20s you could stay up all night and not regret it. And if it did, I wrote it down.

If you were on a bike, you might just run over the pages like an old newspaper as I did a few weekends ago. Run over? Another daily occurrence in life, not by a vehicle, but by stress, toxic relationships, bad karma. I got pretty good at writing passages about when that happened. Maybe you have to.

Young people now is the time to put pen to paper. No keyboards. Ink is the thing. If you haven’t already started a journal, let graduation day be your first passage. When you read it, say, 50 or 60 years later (that’s a few reunions thrown in for good measure) you’ll be fascinated how time flies by. Speaking of which, when you do travel by air, you can write about that too.

Hopefully, there wasn’t any major turbulence involved.