I was thinking this morning about a girl called Pauline
McNicol. I had an innocent, lightweight sort of relationship with her when I
was eighteen. I remember her being very pretty, and her father a strict
and highly principled Irishman – a bricklayer by trade. I remember respecting him.
I remembered a conversation I had with Pauline when we first
started dating, and another we had when she dropped me a month later. I thought
about how I’ve always been confused as to why my attitude on a certain subject
should have switched so radically from one extreme to the other a year or so
after I knew her. This morning I got it. And then something occurred to me:
You know that old saying: ‘Youth is wasted on the young?’ I
think it might also be reasonable to suggest that wisdom is wasted on the old.
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