A WW2 survivor and his grandson discuss the nature of dreams.
|In Eastern Germany where the free and unreachable sun sets behind a dull gray wall, a child asked his grandfather a question:
"Opah what are dreams made of?"
"They are made of steel, Mein Kind", said Opah as he drew from his pipe, blew another smoke ring, and gazed heavenward as if he were being whisked away over that wall into a place so distant it could only be reached by memory.
"Like a tank?"
"No! like a chisel", growled the old man who, being immediately aware of his anger, rubbed his grandson's back, smiled, and tried to hold back his tears as he calmly repeated himself.
"Like a chisel, Mein Kind."
The perceptive child gazed into two moist eyes nestled in the wrinkles of his grandfather.
"Why are you so sad Opah?" squeaked the boy.
Opah stared intensely at that crumbling wall, as a gush of tears fell onto his grandson, and a strong but shaky voice answered:
"Dreams are like seeds; water them and they will grow. They will grow so big -so big mein kind"
"How big Opah? how big?"
"Bigger then the oldest trees in Berlin," Opah said with a smile.
"Opah?" Asked the boy who never ran out of questions, "what happened to that wall?"
Opah drawing again from his pipe, grinned, furrowed his brows, and let out a smoky laugh.
"We watered our dreams, We watered our dreams Mein Kind."