“Little man doing little things” is so far from how I could have possibly described this man, who, in as little time as an hour, inspired me to life itself. The talk was possibly the most moving, humbling experience I’ve received, that’s been offered from another adult that I’ve been fortunate enough to experience while at school. Finding that feeling of being infinite in all the unexpected places, sitting in an old, slightly crooked chair, staring at Professor Frame’s oversized glasses and thinning face, framed by wild hair and an encouraging laugh. His eyes were gentle, his hands knobby, his legs bent to hide his wire body, in a way that fully exposed it. The conversation itself felt casual, but had the severity that lay behind limited temporality, and the heavy gentleness in the very fact that this man chose to an entire hour in an unforeseen wave of seconds ticking down, a countable number of seemingly indistinguishable, endless sand grains, with people he didn’t know, who wouldn’t contribute to anything to his life, simply to help. And empathize.
“When we die, we’re gone. But it’s our work that stays behind, that people remember.” And that one, awful but good punchline to the third penguin joke.
So immensely grateful to the one who made magic happen, who challenges me, who made me feel pure affection, and to the person who was the first I wanted to share the experience with, and who patiently lived a little bit of the afterglow with me.
And of course, to the magic himself. Thank you to the most immense “little man” I’ve had the luck of crossing paths with.
