I wonder how my parents and teachers coped with this boy wrapped up in his own world with no thought for time keeping or for their concerns. But travelling back in time has been a humbling experience. I salute the boy with his dreams and ideals. I would have disappointed him. I didn’t become a doctor or scientist or inventor. My only contribution to the struggle in South Africa was arguing and walking out in a huff when some relatives came from Cape Town and feeling guilty from time to time about buying fruit.
Perhaps it is as well that he couldn’t see me then. Is it possible, though, to bring him back to help me now? Can he remind me of my dreams, teach me never to ignore injustice again, make me speak out and act out those ideas which must be spoken out and acted upon? Can he help me rescue those ideas and passions and even life itself from slipping away into the ever-flowing gutter of “might have been?”
A child sees time differently, an ocean stretching out before it with no sight of distant shore. The clock ticks louder now.