"Daddy?"
					"Grandpa!?!"
	"Yes, children..."
	"Tell us again what it was like..."
	"Eh? Like?"
	"Before..." "You know, before ..."
	"Oh, you mean Before the BAD TIMES..."
	"Yeah... "
	"Well.... It was like this..."

     The old man suddenly smiled as he remembered the way "things were, before..." He looked around at the empty beach, empty here save for the himself, the children, the sand, and the water. The birds had just, finally, started to come back, their loud, screeching noises only faintly audible in the distance - nearer to what was left of the bridge than to him.
     It was still gray much of the time, but it looked like the sun would make it through the clouds anyway. Sunblock, yes, that's what he needed - not just for himself, but for the children. They were so fair, so light. Many times he'd almost expected to see halos and wings. He laughed to himself, and suddenly - involuntarily - he trembled.
     If he looked carefully, which he had to do more often now that his eyes were failing, he could just see people out there. Just a few, feeling their way out onto the bridge. Maybe some of them were being hopeful, and had a fishing line or pole. It had been a long time since he'd been fishing; the last fish he'd caught was years ago - the last one he kept... he couldn't remember. That, he knew, was a bad sign in and of itself. He had to remember!
     He did his best to keep the smile on his face, knowing that if he slipped for even a moment, the children would notice, and it would make them unhappy. No, he didn't want that to happen. As convoluted as it seemed, making them unhappy made him unhappy which upset them further when they knew it was their request that caused the whole incident in the first place. They didn't want him to be sad; there was too much of that "stuff" already!

	"Dadeeeeeeeeee..." (whining)
	"OK, OK, I was just looking at the birds..."
	"Granpa, c'mon, tell us the story..."
	"I don' like those birds!" (more whining)

     The children had changed so much since then; all the new children, that is. The older ones were just the same as they were - noisy, friendly, loving, bickering - nothing was different. The new ones, though - they were different. Very bright, incredibly fast, growing up intellectually and emotionally faster than anyone could have imagined. Now, that didn't mean they weren't loving and caring - they were; they just didn't seem to have the time to wait for things to happen.
     The new children (funny, that should be what we all call "them") were perceptive, alive, dynamic, and so far ahead of anything most of the parents could handle. Me? I got along with them, pretty well, actually. I seemed to fit in, somehow. I was a stranger in my own age, in many ways more like the new children than my peers. Ah, but I'm older now; not as fast or agile.

	"Wake up, Granpa... I wanna hear the story!"
	"Father... If you're going to space on us, we'll just leave!"
	"Sorry, again, kids - what part do you want to hear?"
	"Oh, all of it Daddy. We have time..."
	"Maybe I don't."
	"What else is there for you to do? You're our teller and 'memberer!"
	"Maybe it's time I write it all down."
	"Maybe, but not right now! We wanna hear it!"
	"I should have written it down a long time ago, so I don't forget."
	"Granpa, you can't forget! You're the 'memberer, 'member?"
	"Even the REmemberer can forget, and I'm getting older, kid!"
	"Are you gonna tell us, or are we gonna forget it all?"
	"I don't think YOU can forget any of it, the way your memory is!"
	"But we like hearing it from you, Granpa..."
	"OK, give me a second and I'll do it"
	"Yay!"

Copyright © 2000-2006 by Marshall Barry. All Rights Reserved. All Wrongs Considered. All Flames Ignored.