"There's an old quote, Ophelia," the young girl's father, Mr. Chester, said musingly. "It's one of my favorites, and I believe it speaks directly to our little disagreement. It goes like this: 'Abandon hope, ye who enter here.' It means," he went on, stroking his mustache, "that once you reach a certain point, you enter a certain stage of life, the journey's not worth the trouble anymore. See what I mean?"
"No Father," Ophelia grumped, hastily stifling a yawn. "You're not helping. I've already told you: I don't want to be eight years old anymore. I want to be grown up – I'm ready!"
Mr. Chester shook his head. "Ophelia, being grown up isn't so glamorous and exciting as you might think. Just look at me." Ophelia gave him a good look and frowned. "Exactly," Mr. Chester nodded, "you see, once you're grown up, you start to gain weight in unsightly places; you start to grow (and in my case, lose) hair at rates hitherto unfathomed; you even start to lose your memory. No, Ophelia, once you're grown up, there's just nothing else to look forward to; once you're my age, you might as well give up on the idea that the good things in life will still come your way."
"But Father," Ophelia argued, "you get to smoke cigarettes and ride in carriages by yourself and stay up late and eat as many chocolates as you want and–"
Mr. Chester held up his hand to shush her. "Ophelia," he sighed, "you're confused my darling. Those things seem nice, but they aren't the good things in life. What's good is being young, having energy, riding your bicycle, reading your stories, pulling up carrots, and all such as that. What's good is being free from anxiety, being able to run about in this green world without it dragging you down, understand? Ophelia, I've lost that. I've grown old. I have chocolates, but I have worries. I ride in carriages, but I never enjoy them because I'm riding for business. It's not the same."
"But Father," Ophelia responded, wide-eyed, "if I grow up, I'll still ride my bicycle and play in the dirt and do all of my favorite things. I'll just be, well, grown up."
Mr. Chester smiled. "Some people can do that Ophelia. Some people can be old and still be young. You're old Father here wasn't so lucky."
"Oh, that's sad Papa!" Ophelia leapt into her Father's lap and rested her head on his shoulder. "I think there's still a young Papa in you somewhere." She snuggled deep into his shoulder.
"Ophelia, that is very nice of you to say. You know, in some ways, being grown up is just as simple as living each day, knowing that tomorrow we'll be older and wiser. In that sense, time just seems to... Ophelia?" The young girl was breathing deeply, fast asleep. The hour was, of course, long past her bedtime. "I should have known – old enough to weasel your Father into staying up, but not old enough to take the consequences. Off you go now."
Once he'd tucked Ophelia into bed, he went back to the parlor. He pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and reached for a chocolate he'd left on the piano. For a moment, he listened to the crickets chirping outside the twilit window. "Perhaps there is a young Papa in me somewhere," he smiled thoughtfully. "Doesn't mean I can't enjoy the fruits of age, however," he chortled, popping the chocolate into his mouth.
The End.
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This post is part of a synchroblog, where myself and some other good folk post simultaneously, every two weeks, on the same topic. This week's topic was "Giving up for the long haul." Above is my interpretation. The other bloggers' takes can be found here:
Synchrobloggers
