A dad and his son were sailing one afternoon. They had done it often as the boy had grown up. They loved looking at the coastline, shoulder to shoulder, and talking about what they saw.

The boy was older now, and often looked out to sea, instead of back at the coast. Sometimes he was very quiet. But father and son kept sailing together.

On one particular afternoon the boy was looking through his spyglass, plainly absorbed by what he saw. The father took his own out—and was alarmed to see storm clouds on the horizon, and what looked like very rough seas ahead. He asked his son what he saw.

“Dad, it’s gorgeous. It changes all the time, and I’m always excited to look. It’s just amazing.”

“But, son, things look bad ahead. We need to get ready, take down the spinnaker, make sure the portholes are closed. Can’t you see? You’re looking right ahead.”

“What are you talking about? It’s just beautiful.”

And they each took their spyglasses from their eyes, and they looked at each other. Mystified, they traded.

“Oh.”
“Oh!”

For it only appeared that they had been looking at the same thing. The father had taken out his spyglass, indeed, and was practiced at being on guard for dangers ahead. But the son had been using his kaleidoscope, the gift from his father to see the beautiful world in bright and changing ways.

And they both were quiet for a moment, as they each adjusted to the other’s vision. And they adjusted course, which had really only been a slight correction after all, and passed the rest of the day trading the kaleidoscope and comparing what they saw in it. Every so often the spyglass made an appearance, was consulted for course correction, and then was rested again.

And they understood.

**Many thanks for my sweet friend Lisa for this beautiful metaphor. Sometimes it looks like we should see the same thing as our kids, but it depends on our tools.