A little human sees the world differently from the rest of us. From the perspective of someone three foot tall or thereabouts.
There's a wisdom to be found in children if we ever managed to lower ourselves to their level. Or perhaps aimed as ambitiously high.
Hard when boys and girls are seen mostly as amusing toys or burdensome responsibilities, depending on the time of day or the role you have in their lives.
Grandparents, in fairness, get to pick and choose. Last weekend our family all gathered in the one place for the first time since Covid. Just lunch in the old homestead. It included one three-and-half-year old, a human dynamo who could power the street lights of a village if properly harnessed.
It had been February since we had broken bread together, let alone clinked glasses and shared stories.
Then in the middle of the afternoon, Arthur, a spaceman of world renown, decided we were all going on a great adventure. No volunteering. This was conscription. One by one he gathered the seven adults on the stairs, sat them on varying steps and explained the mission and gave them their orders.
We were shooting to the stars, he said. He didn't get into specifics. Not great on silly things like names, though the moon did get a mention.
I was placed at the very back of the spaceship. He has worked out enough about family dynamics at this stage to realise that grandad is best kept out of harm's way for his own sake.
Everyone else was given a task. Pulling and pressing knobs and buttons. Opening and closing doors and hatches. The bannister was a bewildering array of levers and pulleys.
We were all told to strap ourselves in. Buckle up. It was going to be a bumpy ride. Then we took off. I should add lunchtime wine may have helped the adults immerse themselves in this wondrous adventure. Arthur was simply well sugared.
It was a noisy lift-off. Earthly neighbours might have been alarmed.
We shot past various stars, swooping under some and over others. We were pursued by baddies and chased after pirates.
As we rose over one star we were all instructed to lean back and make swooshing sounds. When we swooped under others, we leaned far forward. More loud swooshing.
We pushed to the right and piled to the left. It was exhausting but nobody ever said conquering galaxies far, far away was going to be child's play.
Eventually we crashed-landed on Jupiter, though it was hard to tell because our pioneering spaceman wasn't too fussed about the navigational details.
As our spaceship banged down on the rocky surface we bounced, wailing at the top of our lungs. Glad to be alive, the grown-ups piled out, exhausted. And thirsty.
We had made it. The pirates had been vanquished, the baddies nowhere to be seen.
Our exhausted and heroic leader suggested that it was surely time for a treat. In space, after all, no one can hear you eat ice cream.
I told Arthur that had been a really great game. He looked at me with absolute astonishment and total disdain. "That wasn't a game, Granfrank (which is what he calls me). That was real."
I could see he was disgusted. Another grown-up who doesn't understand anything.
He was right, of course. When you are three foot tall you live in a different sort of world. There are no rules. You can imagine things that adults can't and go places that aren't on their maps.
Seeing the error of my ways, I thanked him profusely for the amazing adventure.
You're welcome, the great spaceman said, thinking of infinity and beyond.
And ice cream, of course.