As time goes by.

When we were young, seconds, minutes, and hours seemed suspended as we awaited things to come. The time between birthdays seemed eternal, and the clock's second hand seemed to stand still as it (hardly) progressed around the dial toward the moment school would end. As I wander through the phase we call "middle age," my view has changed. Now as I look backward, the ledger of my days seems to have been kept by the folks who ran the savings and loan industry. I want to know what happened to all that time. Where did it go? Why didn't someone keep better track of it?

I recently spent a week with more than 100 parents of children with brain injury trying to understand their fears, their lost aspirations, and their modified hopes. But despite my efforts, I felt barriers. As a parent of two children free from brain injury, I could only guess as to how I would feel in their place. This was an obvious barrier between me and these parents; less obvious was the barrier time had created. Most of the parents were closer in age to my children than to me. My heart cried not just for the little children, but also for the big children--the parents. With my sorrow came the realization that I had passed from one generation to another and would never again see life from the perspective of my youth.

This moment affected me deeply. As I began to plan my talk for our University's annual graduation ceremony, I found myself battling against self-involvement. In these brief talks, I have always addressed the parents of the graduates, but this year I seemed unable to think of anything beyond that. I could not escape the thoughts of my own daughters, one heading off to high school and the other graduating from college. Now I look at college graduations not from the perspective of the student, but rather from the perspective of the proud parent. Life and time have taken from me one perspective and given me another.

June is a time for thinking about time. Graduations, weddings, and even APTA meetings all make me think about the inevitable flow. At our Association's annual meetings, I see colleagues and count the years we have known one another and take mental inventory of the changes that have occurred in our lives. I am amazed at how young our youngest members have become (and at how far my hairline has traveled!).

Time is to us all what the boat is to the mariner--with a difference that is both simple and consequential. The mariner chooses to sail, but time allows us no choice but to steer a course around the obstacles of our being and to try to appreciate the ever-changing view. I wonder whether you see what I see. As I look at students, patients, and colleagues from my middle-aged vessel, I think I understand what they mean about the wisdom of the ages. Each age has its own wisdom.