WHEN LIFE GOES BY TOO FAST
Por Olga Carrera
On a rainy spring day, when I was six, my father
wanted to show me how to make a kite.
This was the perfect indoor activity for a rainy day. All the needed
materials where handy: some gift wrapping paper left over from the previous
Christmas; a couple of bamboo sticks, some butcher cord and a few strings of
fabric to be used on the long tail.
- Let’s spend some time together – suggested my father
with enthusiasm.
- Dad- I complained - They sell kites in the stores. They are already made in beautiful colours … Why
should we waste any time making them ourselves?
As a kind reaction to my obvious lack of interest, my
father made two kites. One for me and
one for him. The next day, he invited me to a nearby hill and tried to
teach me how to fly the kite.
- Once they are up in the air – my father said with excitement–
we will sit together on top of the hill and we’ll watch them fly and play with
the clouds.
With the natural impatience of a kid, I ran down the
hill, as fast as my legs allowed me to go
and raised my kite without any difficulty. From the bottom of the hill I observed my
father, all by himself still trying to make his kite take flight.
On a beautiful sunny summer day, when I was thirteen,
my father invited me to go fishing. It
was a relaxing hobby that would give us the opportunity to share. The stillness of the river and the silence of
nature created a peaceful environment, ideal to promote true friendship.
- I am bored- I said out loud, disturbing the quiet of
that place- Fish are not biting and I want to go home. With the natural impatience
of a teenager I got up and left my father all alone with his fishing pole.
On a cool autumn day, when I was 21, my father
suggested that we worked together on a renovation project in our home. There was plenty of wood to be cut,
measurements to be taken and walls to be painted.
- This project will give us the opportunity to spend some
time together – said my father, as he meticulously sorted the wood and classified the tools we were about to use.
- What an inefficient way to make progress in a project
of this magnitude!- I said to myself- Why do we have to do everything together? – Then I suggested- I will paint all doors
and windows, while you take care of the walls.
My elderly father agreed with my suggestion. We worked
on the project. He did his part, I did mine. With the natural impatience of a
young adult, I quickly finished my part of the project and there was my father,
left all by himself, slowly working on the rest of the walls.
I always found myself living life too fast…Never
interested in wasting any time. I wanted
to experiment with a lot of different things in very little time. My father, on the other hand, seemed to have
an entire live ahead of him. He moved
slowly and enjoyed every little thing he did.
On a dark frigid winter day, when I was 45, I visited
my father with my young family. It was a
long and endless trip from our place. The
roads were slippery and visibility was poor.
There, in the family room, we found my aged father staring
at his old tool box. He picked up a hammer
and looked at it with curiosity, as if he did not know what it was for. He then, slowly, returned it to the box with
shaky hands.
We gave him a warm greeting but he did not seem to
recognize us. He looked at us with no
expression on his face. Once he felt
comfortable, he asked the same questions over and over again.
.
Today, I would like to make a colorful kite, and let
his handy hands be the ones to show me how to bend the wood and be him the one
to tell me how long the tail should be.
Today I would like to rest with him on the top of the
hill and watch how our kites fly freely in the blue skies.
Today, I would like to return to that river and sit
with him for long, long hours, and learn from him all abut the fisherman’s
patience.
Today I look into his empty eyes and I wonder what he
might be thinking about.
I wanted to live life too fast, without realizing that
sometimes we need to slow down and enjoy intensely the simplest moments of our
journey.
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