“Papa, why do buildings look so old? They look older than grandpa.” Little Josiah tugged his father’s arm looking up at the towering structure. It was huge, taller even than Papa. Josiah wondered if giants had built it up that big.
“They look old because they were built a long time ago, son.”
“But why?”
Papa laughed. “People need buildings. Buildings give us shelter, safety. They even tell us stories.”
“Buildings don’t talk, Papa.” Josiah scrunched up his face trying to figure out what Papa was talking about. The buildings were made of rick and everyone knows rocks don’t talk. They can’t talk because they don’t have mouths. Why did Papa think the ricks could talk?
Papa just smiled. “Come here, Josiah,” he said and walked over to a tree. He sat down and Josiah sat next to him. “Look up at that building. What do you see?”
Josiah looked at the tall building. He couldn’t really see anything. “Just rocks,” he answered, shrugging. He didn’t know what Papa was asking him to say. It was just a building with plain grey and brown rocks. And it was old, not like the newer buildings in the city that were all shiny and bright when the sun hit them just right. This one seemed gloomy and…old.
Papa put his hands on Josiah’s head and tilted it up to the top of the building. “What do you think the builders thought when they first saw the sun peeking over the roof?”
Josiah thought real hard. He didn’t know what the builders could have thought. “It was pretty?” he asked.
“Possibly,” Papa said. “Quite possibly. Or they could have thought about the colors the sky turned, or how hot it was, or what their wives were cooking for dinner, or hundreds of other things.”
“How do you know that?” Josiah asked, turning to look at Papa. The sun was behind the building now and the tree they sat under loomed in the coming darkness. Josiah felt scared by the branches when the wind made them move. Papa pulled him close.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I can guess because the building has a history. It is history. It is here to talk to us, to teach us. Buildings tell us stories about the past not only why they were built but about the people who built them.”
“How can they do that?”
“Quiet. Listen. The building speaks. The world around it speaks. They tell you the stories and all you have to do is listen.”
Josiah didn’t say anything and strained his ears to listen just as Papa told him to. He couldn’t hear anything so he tried to listen just a little bit harder. All he could hear was the wind and the sounds of other people talking and of cars on the road.
Papa smiled. “It’s all part of the story, Josiah. Every sound, down to the smallest cricket tells the story of this building. In time you’ll hear it without thinking. Later, you’ll know what the sounds are telling you.”
“But when will that be?”
Papa pushed Josiah to stand up and then pushed himself up on the tree. “Soon, when you learn patience. Not today.”
Josiah frowned, but followed Papa away from the old building. He vowed he’d come back one day and listen to the stories Papa talked about. When he was older he’d come back and make sure he heard them because he wanted to know what the building said.