This year I was fortunate enough to have another Christmas with my dad. He turned ninety last June, and although he moves much slower than he did twenty years ago and you have to speak a bit louder when you talk to him, he’s still very mentally and physically active. (Oh, in case you’re calculating here, I’m not THAT old…he was well into his forties when I was born.) :)

One benefit to having a dad that age is the vast well of wisdom and experience available to you. And since my dad has always been open minded and never afraid or shy about discussing any topic, it’s always been easy for me to tap into his wisdom well whenever I wanted. So, after Christmas dinner, I figured I’d do a little tapping…

“Dad, where did 2005 go? I swear it’s like I went to bed on Christmas night, 2004 and woke to Christmas day 2005. I don’t know where all the days in between went.”

He nods, smiles, and watches my three-year-old nephew run by with a Christmas bow on his head.

“I mean nothing is slow anymore. Why is that? Is the earth moving faster now or something? What about all our so called technological advancements? Weren’t they supposed to save us time? It seems like the more ‘advanced’ we get, the faster time flies by. Why is that?”

He sips his coffee. There’s a twinkle in his eye.

“Think about, Dad. Right now you can look back and remember easier, slower times, so can I. Hell, even my kids can. But what will slower times look like for my grandkids? For my great grandkids? Can you imagine what the world will be like when they have to look back at today, 2005, and say this was their slower time?”

Dad waits a beat before putting a weather-beaten hand over mine on the table. “Close your eyes,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Just close ‘em.”

I did.

“Remember when William ran by here a minute ago?”

“Yeah.”

“What color was the bow on his head?”

“Blue.”

“It was red.”

I frowned.

“What kind of shoes did he have on?”

Frown deepening. “Sneakers.”

“He was barefoot.”

I open my eyes and look around for William. Sure enough, he’s pattering around the kitchen without shoes.

“There were twenty-four hours in a day when I was twenty,” Dad says. “And now that I’m ninety, there are still twenty-four hours in a day. Time hasn’t changed, Punkin’, we have. It only seems to be moving faster because we’re not paying attention to the ‘slow’ things anymore.”

I’m still chewing on that last statement—slowly chewing. Ya know, he may very well be on to something. :)