I leaned down to get eye level with the boy. He seemed frightened. Not of me but of the solemnity of the moment, of the understanding that discord would be received negatively. His wide eyes, still clinging to the barest remnant of baby blue, stared into mine as I spoke.
“Son,” he was not my son but that seemed the thing to say, “let me tell you about the rules of this world. There are many, but I’ll start with the first two.” I squatted down further to save my back some trouble.
“Rule number one: All other rules have exceptions. Differently put, every rule, except rule number one, can and will be overruled by at least one other rule. Rule number two: It is not your intentions but other people’s perceptions of your actions that matter in life. Do you understand?”
He shook his head. His hands were held at this mouth now, a sign of anxiety.
I sighed. “Most people don’t.”
I was about to continue when I noticed the boy begin to fidget. He was uncomfortable. Damn.

I get like this sometimes. Go so long without saying anything meaningful that I can’t keep from spilling out my thoughts on the closest target. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s not for the satisfaction of passing along my knowledge but for hearing my own voice. Either way, the sad truth of it is is: people seldom have the same yearning for wisdom like I do, so the stretches between meaningful conversation have grown increasingly longer.
The boy had run off while I was caught in introspection. I straightened back up, left knee popping in protest. Looking around, I am struck once again by the futility of it all. No one ever listens.
I ignore the stares of a patriarchally bonded couple.

Fools.