The Old Man

I sat across from the old man listening to the stories he told. Memories from the years long ago, from a different time. A time when things were harder for the opposite sex and of color. I listened with a heavy heart at what he was saying, how can someone have this fear and hatred towards people with different colored skin? Then in the same breath saying what wonderful food they cook. It saddens me that old man felt this way, he was a man that I had looked up to and had cherished. It became frustrating to listen to his tales'. I wanted to tell him how he was wrong about the world around him, but it would be no use. He was a person stuck in his way and set in him mind. The children asked why he tells these stories and why does he feel this way. I try to explain but words can't away find there way out, all I tell them is he grew up in a different time. For now all I can do is to keep quiet and let him tell his tales.