Both us called out, “noooo!” in unrehearsed unison.  Another fellow in the room had just commented about little children, our near kin, as if they are not of age to be significant. I thought of my own babies in whose faces I could see intelligence from the first calm breath. Their expressions confirmed it  as they processed the sensations available to them. And then as they grew and claimed their stance as individuals, it was clear that these were no common creature. If so, a diamond is just a rock.
As much as I loved my own, that affection is not diminished one wit for the next generation. Grand children, in my experience, are a just a different flavor of adorable. Partly, I’m sure, sweetened by the fewer corrective experiences we grandparents need to provide. That’s not the focus of our interactions.
But it doesn’t stop there. As an artist, I hire models occasionally when there’s a scheduling conflict with family members or when the picture requires a different look or age. It never fails to cross my mind that this person on the other side of the lens or standing before a sketch pad is in their past. This event will be part of their history. They will go on to their own glorious lives filled with the stuff of inspiration.
In the eyes of my model I see the soul of an eternal being whose generations are forever and who could just as easily have been born mine. It’s humbling.