Small Hands, Big Problems

Throughout the week, I reflected on Cliff’s post titled ‘Old Dogs’ many times. It’s been a long week. At times, I had to deal with ‘old dogs’ at other times I was the ‘old dog’. But, one night this week I was able to put it all into perspective. Maybe, just maybe, our problems are somehow related to our age.

These hands belong to my friend. He came over to help me plant flowers. He got irritated twice. The first time he stopped planting, glared at me, and said, “Ralph, I am not seven. I’m eight.” Believe me I’ll never make the mistake of calling him seven again.

The second time he got irritated he threw the planting shovel down, leaned back and said, “Damn it! The hole is too deep.” Not wanting to experience his wrath again, I contained my laughter. I told him to throw some dirt back in the bottom and it would be fine. He looked at me and smiled and said, “Oh yeah, that’ll work.”

So, I am starting to believe many of our problems are age related. I’m going outside to play with my EIGHT-year-old friend.