I’d spent the night in a hostel in Dublin; I was on my way to Wales and about to miss my ferry, but first I had to have a cup of tea. So I went and made myself one; and while I was drinking it, I saw a little romance.
There was a girl and a boy in the kitchen, probably both eight years of age, making breakfast. They were oblivious to my presence, because they were so engaged in the presence of one another.
You’d have thought they’d been married for fifty years, the way they were acting; the little girl gave the instructions, and the boy followed them, and they worked well together.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
Finally the boy noticed me and asked me if there was something I needed; I think he was the owner’s son.
“No, I’m off. Is that your wife?”
He replied, dead serious, “No. She’s just a friend.” And then he went back to his duties.
I never knew him personally, but I know that little boy had a smart father and a wonderful mother.
And now, he probably has many children.