We, those who I grew up with and I, are of that age. Our gods are falling into graves, and we realize with horrible certainty that a whole new generation is seeking their own titans, and that they must be us.
It is a terrible crime to shrink from this duty. To push off children and teens because we are afraid, self centered or unworthy. The next generation demands we rise to be worthy. For without those gods who raised us and ran in fields with us, who taught us the geometry of Euclid, the words of Shakespeare, or the reality of Tubman, how would we even stand this tall?
Perhaps they were like us. Simple children who had gotten bigger. Unsure, unsteady, and wholly unprepared for being thrust into the role of guides and shaman for those that come after. Maybe they were.
Thank God we never doubted enough to pull back the curtain. Thank God they never let us see them sweat.
Or, maybe, that is the last lesson. All lives end. What remains is what we pass on as the giants for those who remember us from when they were small.
A beloved teacher is dead.
Let us gather and tell her legends. Let us tell them and determine we will create more for those that come after.