I was standing in a long line at the grocery store — one of those endless, slow-moving ones that test your patience. I sighed, checked my watch, grumbled about how people never hurry up. All I could think about was how much time I was losing.
Then, someone joined the line behind me. At first, I didn’t look back. But I heard a man’s voice — soft, steady, calm.
“Okay, son,” he said, “there are two people walking on the right. The lady in front of us is holding flowers. There’s a man wearing a Santa hat. And over there—someone’s buying a turkey.”
He kept talking like that — describing everything, moment by moment.
I frowned at first, thinking, why’s he narrating all this? But then I turned. And I understood.
The boy beside him — maybe ten, maybe eleven — had his eyes closed. No. Not closed. Just different. He was blind.
And that man… that father… was giving his son the world — one word at a time.
He described every sound, every smile, every rustle of a shopping bag like it was a story worth telling. And the boy? He giggled softly. He saw everything through his father’s voice.
The beeping of the scanner became music. The chatter of people became color. The world that most of us take for granted — that little boy saw it clearer than I ever had.
I stood there, silent. My complaints about time, about the line, about my life — suddenly felt so small.
When they reached the counter, the father said, “There’s a lady ahead of us with shiny red apples, and the man next to her has chocolate — maybe we’ll get one too, what do you think?”
The boy laughed. “I think chocolate always wins, Dad.”
And they both laughed together.
It was such a simple sound. But it felt holy.
As I walked out later, I glanced back one last time. The boy’s tiny hand was in his father’s, his face glowing with happiness — not because he could see the world, but because his father never let him miss it.
That day, I stopped complaining.
Because I realized something — There are people who can’t see the world, and still, they live it better than those of us who can.
Sometimes, you don’t need eyes to see. You just need someone who loves you enough… to describe the world like it’s the most beautiful thing there is.