Faded glimpses of a life they hadn’t seen line up the shelves of the rundown antique shop. Remembering fondly, the old man sees memories in each wooden bowl and enamel canning pot. But he holds back from telling the kids why each item would be important in the old family home. Still he fears the memories he holds back will simply fade away, when the light in his eyes starts to dim.
For comfort he reminds himself that this is now a burden for a newer generation. A generation that never took the time to listen. They are always too busy looking for some shiny new something the old man never imagined. He remembers an old dinette table that stood in his grandma’s kitchen. Where the grown ups would sit around and hold court. It’s where they told stories and tall tales with a thick haze of cigarette smoke hanging over their heads.
It’s where a young man would ask for the keys to the car so he could go to the movies and hangout with his friends. Because he was too busy to hang around old people. Back when words to him didn’t matter. It was awkward kisses by the water that mattered. Being afraid of the words, I love you that mattered. Oh times may have changed, but not the words or the memories left unforgotten by you and me.