Young love

The old man sat back in his chair and looked intently at the young man. “Marry my daughter, huh?”

“Yessir.” The young man's eyes moved to the floor.

“Why do you love her, son?”

A smile spread across the young man's face. “Why, she's lovely. She inspires me. She is bright, witty, and humorous. She challenges me. I just want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

The old man's face did not change. “Well, son, then I'm very concerned. What if tomorrow she has an accident and her brain is turned to mush. She becomes quadraplegic, and can only grunt like a pig when she needs a diaper change, or something to eat? Will you still love her?”

The young man could not believe what he had heard. He smiled in confusion and embarrassment; he could not answer.

“You see, son, what you see is temporary. There are no guarantees that she will always be that way. Maybe you need more time to think about this “marriage” thing. Even so, I'm not stopping you. I'm not sure I understood love when I was your age, either.”

“Well, sir, I wasn't sure I could tell you what I really think. It is very hard to explain. There is a connection... we are connected somehow beyond what we see, or touch, or feel. Your daughter is that connection. That connection won't go away, even if our bodies fail us. If she is alone in some kind of hell, I will be there to keep her company. Does that make sense?”

With a tear in his eye, the old man took the young man's hand into his hands and pressed as he spoke, “That's what I want for my daughter.”


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Be Peace, Be Love.