Liz on The Free Press

[Liz]

Haven't read these yet, but thank you for including the voices of the older generations. I'm in my forties and feel like a lot of this wisdom and respect is being ignored or depreciated much more so than when I was a child. And I feel like now it is needed more than ever!

[B.]

Part of wisdom lies in knowing when to keep quiet and let people find their own way.

When my godchildren were little, and later my great-nephew, they listened eagerly and carefully to my stories. When they became teenagers, I stopped.

This poem by A.A. Milne should explain it:

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,

A little black nothing of feet and fur;

And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,

He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.

And all that he learned he learned from her.

‘I’ll ask my mother,' says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,

A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.

And little black Pinkle grew and grew

Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.

And all that he did he did with her.

‘Two friends together,’ says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,

An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.

And whenever he thought of a thing to do,

He didn’t much bother about Tattoo,

For he knows it’s nothing to do with her,

So ‘See you later,’ says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr,

An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.

A little brown kitten that’s nearly new

Is now playing games with its big Tattoo…

And Pink looks lazily down at her:

‘Dear little Tat,’ says Pinkle Purr.