As we shuffle, wheel or limp along the downhill slide of this maelstrom called life, it occurs to me that we should try to make some sense of it.
We've seen the sweep of mankind in our lifetime -- wars, tragedies, incredible successes -- an epic story of civilization.
Then we look at our grandkids, hoping to impart a piece or two of that epic while we can.
We're like the tribal elder, surrounded by fresh young faces, as he passes on the secrets of the bow.
That's what was running through my mind as the toddlers gathered in the room to watch Sponge Bob. I cleared my throat, hoping someone might look at me. But they all kept staring at Sponge Bob as he navigated a car under water.
I turned off the TV and the crowd groaned, "Grandpa, we like Sponge Bob," one uttered. Another started crying.
"It's time to talk," I thundered. "Ask me anything you want about my time."
"Do you have cell phones and video games?"
"No," I answered. More groans. "Ask me about the airplane. Do you know why it flies?"
"Cuz it goes real fast then goes up," a little girl screamed as she waved her arms, "like a spaceship."
"No. It's the shape of the wings that makes it fly. Besides, there aren't any real spaceships."
You imagine Bishop Wright talking to his sons. Were Wilbur and Orville fantasizing about arm wrestling as their dad lectured on the scientific method?
I then answered, "Don't you want to know how they build big buildings and make cars?"
"I'm hungry," one announced. Still another yelled, "I want a flying skateboard."
A scuffle erupted on the floor. "Don't hit me," one ordered. "Ouch," another screamed. A pillow soared across the room.
Finally, the eldest approaches. "I have a question."
Sighing, I think there is a child with a brain. Mankind isn't doomed after all.
"Go ahead," I answered, smiling at the young Einstein.
"If the FBI catches the bad guy, can they shoot him?"
"Huh?"
"It was on TV," he offered.
"I'm sure it was. But don't you want to know about the dinosaurs and how our birds may be the same thing?
"That's real dumb," the older one exclaimed. "Dinosaurs are big, but birds are small."
My head begins to hurt. I feel for the poor tribal elder trying to break up a stick fight among his pupils, one of whom has broken the bow.
How did mankind survive?
The urchins have beaten me into a sort of, er, Sponge Bob.
There's only one option left. Rising from the chair, I announce:
"OK, guys, let's arm wrestle."
Larry Wills has been a journalist for 35 years, and has worked for various Las Vegas publications since 1991. Contact him at bedfordroad@worldnet.att.net.
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