“You remember the most obscure stuff” is a frequent refrain that I hear from family members, perhaps it is my lot in life as the middle child that has cast this mutant ability onto my reluctant shoulders, but I don’t recall asking for it.
Often the memories come rushing back with such deafening frequency that I am sometimes inclined to scream out in anguish for the echoes of the past to grant me some solace, but I admit that I am entranced by the clarity of the messages that are imparted now that I can make sense of the wisdom that were dripping from each word
When I was younger I often bemoaned the lectures from family members that I frequently found myself on the receiving of but the joint influence of repetition and time has given me something nothing short of priceless, wisdom.
It brings to mind a quote that is attributed to Mark Twain:
“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.”
Is youth really wasted on the young, do we truly talk ourselves blue in the face?
Regardless of the answer, I am compelled to push past the alternative of doing, nothing at all.