Once there was a little boy who thought he was twenty.
He pretended that he was like big people around him. He listened to their words so that he could talk like them. He tried to think like them, but never quite got the hang of it.
Eventually he became twenty, himself. He figured his grasp on life was pretty solid. Things fit comfortably into the box. But he still didn't quite think like everybody else, and, as a result, he didn't talk like others at times.
A friend punched him once: "I agree with everything you say, I just can't stand the way you say it!" POW!
The little boy thought about that for a long time.
Eventually he found his match. She was the part that helped him feel whole. She added her perspective to his. He found out the box was shaped much differently than he'd thought previously. She helped him learn how to talk with folks a little better.
They had experiences. They grew common understanding between them. They filled a small apartment with children, then a small house with a big yard.
They followed promptings to move from place to place. They had more experiences. They collected friends. They learned. They grew apart and then back together, successfully. He grew overweight, gray and balder. He listened more and protested less.
Their children married and moved away. The bubses came along.
Funny, he still feels like he is twenty.
He is better able to communicate. But that box has all but disappeared. Things that used to be boxable, out-grew the box a long time ago.
He's still a little boy. At times he pretends he's like the young people around him. When he visited campus a couple months ago, though, he felt like quite an alien.
His understanding about life around him is more tenuous than ever.
He is impatient: has always had a tough time waiting through Christmas eve. The Grand Return is close, and he can't wait for things to get cleaned-up so that He can come back.
Even so, that Return is closer than it has ever been.
He waits; pretending that he's like the people around him.