I want to hear them

         Oh world. You look. What is it you see? A moment of my day. A moment of my life. Maybe you look from the news caster's perspective: Short clips. What is pertinent. "The man was killed in a car accident, he had five kids." Poor fellow, whose life can only be told in moments. We feel for you who died and had five kids. Perhaps we also have kids. Oh my, now we attach our memories to your children. Associations. We never hear, no one ever gets to tell us in beauteous clarity, of the man as he woke early every morning to make a fire (to keep them warm). The man, this fellow, as he planned every Sunday to walk with them through a park. This fellow, how he would make them blush-(embarrassed!)-with his strange hobbies,  like pretending to be the vice presidents of the United States while they sat in ice-cream parlours. But, no. Only: "The man was killed in a car accident, he had five kids." I hate the news sometimes.
           People walking by, sitting beside me. Conversations over a distant side-walk. Like chatter from different countries, continents, worlds. As understandable as they are. They seem so distant. Just people. 6.5 billion someone told me. But what of them?? Do all of them have five kids, I wonder? How would the news summarize their demise? If they had only moments of air-time given them, how much more story would we be missing? How much more could any of them tell me on a spring day sitting beside me on a park bench? And I wonder, What are their eyes like? What did they do for fun, or how did they talk? Who did they love? And I see it now. There are stories. Oh truly, 6.5 billion stories. Lifetimes long. And! I want to hear them. I want to hear them.