We were sitting in the condo on vacation, and drifting in through the open door was a plaintive little voice, “Mom, come help me float!”. You know the voice, the one that comes from your three-year-old who needs you to let them know it’s safe to do something on their own.

Sometimes it also comes from your thirty-three-year old. And sometimes at 60, I still get the impulse to ask my mommy about something. Or my daddy, for that matter. Although, my dad’s been gone for a couple years now, and it makes it harder. Although, he’s never failed to answer me yet, even though it’s not by voice.

For the most part over the years we subvert that little voice. We are adults now, after all. We have kids of our own.

But the older I get, the more I realize that the all-knowing grey haired elders sitting around the fire don’t really know that much more than I do, and really never did. They just have a lot more experience in the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

It’s that they’ve been through the mill, they’ve made those mistakes, they’ve gone down so many wrong paths they can’t even count them anymore. And experience is the only true teacher.

So, maybe next time you get the impulse to ‘Ask mom’, you should ask mom. Or dad. And if they’re not around, sit down and listen to that still small voice. I bet they told you the answer, you just weren’t listening at the time.