Images of family, friends and strangers mixed with dreams, hopes and fears all came together in the amalgam that was his life.
It was a good and long life he thought with few regrets.
The light from the sun streaming through the bay window of his study fell on his face, the sensation felt warm on his skin. The sounds of children playing outside helped to put him in the mood to work, reminding him of the task he had set out to accomplish.
He had put out several old photo albums and at least five produce size boxes of loose photos and clippings from newspapers and magazines, all of which he wanted to use somehow in this project. Pictures and stories that spanned a lifetime were sprawled out on the large, but otherwise clean and tidy desk.
Opening his eyes and turning to his son sitting beside him in an arm chair, he asked in an almost childlike enthusiasm, "So? How do you want to start this then?"
"It’s your life dad, how did it start?"
"I was born...."
His son cocked an eyebrow and gave his father a quizzical look.
Responding quickly to his sons overly skeptical glare, "Well I was born ya know!"
"I'm not disputing that part." A thin smile beginning to form, "But do you really want to begin your life story like that?"
Thinking for only a split second, "If it’s good enough for Bill Clinton, it’s good enough for me."
He placed the teacup down gently in its saucer and crossed his arms, determined to have his way.
He paused again to think and reflect in more detail about his long life. The wrinkles in his brow thin and hardly showing, laugh lines around his eyes and cheeks creasing only slightly as he smiled. At eighty-three he was in pretty good health and physical condition and he was proud of that.
Age, he always said, was nothing more than how old you felt inside. If you felt young, your mind and body would work together to keep you young.
The light from the sun streaming through the bay window of his study fell on his face, the sensation felt warm on his skin. The sounds of children playing outside helped to put him in the mood to work, reminding him of the task he had set out to accomplish.
He had put out several old photo albums and at least five produce size boxes of loose photos and clippings from newspapers and magazines, all of which he wanted to use somehow in this project. Pictures and stories that spanned a lifetime were sprawled out on the large, but otherwise clean and tidy desk.
Opening his eyes and turning to his son sitting beside him in an arm chair, he asked in an almost childlike enthusiasm, "So? How do you want to start this then?"
"It’s your life dad, how did it start?"
"I was born...."
His son cocked an eyebrow and gave his father a quizzical look.
Responding quickly to his sons overly skeptical glare, "Well I was born ya know!"
"I'm not disputing that part." A thin smile beginning to form, "But do you really want to begin your life story like that?"
Thinking for only a split second, "If it’s good enough for Bill Clinton, it’s good enough for me."
He placed the teacup down gently in its saucer and crossed his arms, determined to have his way.
He paused again to think and reflect in more detail about his long life. The wrinkles in his brow thin and hardly showing, laugh lines around his eyes and cheeks creasing only slightly as he smiled. At eighty-three he was in pretty good health and physical condition and he was proud of that.
Age, he always said, was nothing more than how old you felt inside. If you felt young, your mind and body would work together to keep you young.
No comments:
Post a Comment