The Accidental Philosopher
[ The is something happened to me today ]
The call came at 8 AM. "You need to represent me at the funeral."
That was the head of our organization.
Not a question. A sentence.
I straightened my tie, rehearsed my somber face in the rearview mirror, and arrived at the venue armed with exactly two facts: the man was famous, and he was no longer alive.
I placed the flowers. I bowed respectfully. I turned to leave with the quiet dignity of a man who had somewhere important to be.
That's when the microphone appeared. From nowhere. Like a cobra.
"Sir! As head of your organization, what would you say about his extraordinary contributions?"
No time to correct her.
The camera's red light blinked at me. Accusingly.
I heard myself speak. Something happened between my panic and my mouth, and out came ..
"His works will carry his message across generations... a light that never truly dims..."
Not bad, I thought. Not bad at all.
I was practically tasting freedom when she asked — "Which of his books would you recommend to today's youth?"
Eighty books. Eighty. I knew zero.
I smiled the smile of a man defusing a bomb with oven mitts.
"His early works," I said, nodding gravely, "where he first investigated the very essence of life itself. Choosing one would honestly be a crime."
I thanked her, turned, and walked — with fast strides — to my car, because another reporter was already adjusting his microphone, and I am not a greedy man.
One miracle per funeral is enough.
The call came at 8 AM. "You need to represent me at the funeral."
That was the head of our organization.
Not a question. A sentence.
I straightened my tie, rehearsed my somber face in the rearview mirror, and arrived at the venue armed with exactly two facts: the man was famous, and he was no longer alive.
I placed the flowers. I bowed respectfully. I turned to leave with the quiet dignity of a man who had somewhere important to be.
That's when the microphone appeared. From nowhere. Like a cobra.
"Sir! As head of your organization, what would you say about his extraordinary contributions?"
No time to correct her.
The camera's red light blinked at me. Accusingly.
I heard myself speak. Something happened between my panic and my mouth, and out came ..
"His works will carry his message across generations... a light that never truly dims..."
Not bad, I thought. Not bad at all.
I was practically tasting freedom when she asked — "Which of his books would you recommend to today's youth?"
Eighty books. Eighty. I knew zero.
I smiled the smile of a man defusing a bomb with oven mitts.
"His early works," I said, nodding gravely, "where he first investigated the very essence of life itself. Choosing one would honestly be a crime."
I thanked her, turned, and walked — with fast strides — to my car, because another reporter was already adjusting his microphone, and I am not a greedy man.
One miracle per funeral is enough.
