“By the time I’m your age,” the little blond, a middle-schooler, conversing with her gray-haired grandfather began, “I hope I’ve done everything I wanted to do.”
I’m trying to focus on my femininsm homework, but I’ve been eavesdropping, er, listening accidentally, as the two talk back and forth, equals, despite the 50-plus year age difference. He takes in what she says and offers wisdom amassed over the years; she responds enthusiastically, her youth apparent in her vitality, with questions and responses.
They’ve been talking about school and the future, the past and the war.
It’s a neat pairing. Her confidence is comes through in the mature way she speaks, her well-voiced opinions and advanced diction. His enjoyment is obvious in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his kind probing to hear more about her life.
Though I’m not a part of their conversation, it’s such an obvious reminder of how important time is. It’s a blatant display of how necessary it is to spend our days and hours and moments wisely, to invest them in people. Because as much as we learn about the world around us, what use is the information if we never share it?