It was my good fortune to spend an hour with boys. They were mostly self sufficient, in that they brush their own teeth and tie their own sneakers. But I functioned like a guard rail to keep them from being tardy to school. 

 

One showed me his secret code. There were 26 symbols, lined up with the alphabet. I used it to compose a message, which he solved. His smile at success reached across the table to me. How sweet it is to be clever enough to understand each other.  Then he unfolded a hundred dollar bill and announced that it was his. I was impressed.

 

"It's not real. Some of the writing is in Chinese," he admitted.

 

His brother gave me the synopsis of his favorite show, which he expressed in a run on sentence lasting five minutes. There were worm holes, and amulets. and heroes. Someone died, which was sad. A third son demonstrated his light saber, and the variation in colors that correspond to the voices of each character. Some of them are mismatched, he told me, but it is still pretty cool. 

 

This month there are groups in town exploring the art of listening. As we jostle around this life, it behooves us to heed one another's experiences. Admittedly, sometimes the process feels like deciphering clues. People we love may drop hints about how they are feeling, and if we don't slow down enough to solve them, it remains a mystery. 

 

There are times that the words don't match our true colors. Gruffness is what we display, but inside we are afraid. Bravado may appear like veneer, when underneath is unworthiness. The currency of power can be counterfeit, a worthless substitute for the give and take of respect. 

 

But at the end of the very long journey, the one with time travel, and danger, and even sadness, the prize is connection.