A few white hairs appeared in my beard this weekend. They showed up just like that, no permission asked, without giving a damn what I could be thinking about them. Of course they’re not bragging right now, they’re keeping to themselves in their little corner. But you can’t lie to me, I know exactly what it all means. The message is clear, no one can win this fight.
So all that's left to do is stand with pride – not to throw too many punches in the air, not to argue with the windmills.
I’m not too sure how to do that yet, but I’ve got some time ahead of me. So far the only thing I know is that the answers can’t all be found in books, that it’s probably not enough to get down on your knees and scoop them out of the mud.
But I know they do exist somewhere.
Then I look at my dad, my dad and his white beard. I look at this man who quietly goes along and the path, suddenly, seems much safer.