While waiting for the splash pad to open at Disney’s Aulani Resort in Hawai’i I told my grandson it would be a few more minutes.

“One or two or three?” he asked.

“Three, ” I said, substituting simplicity for accuracy.

“Ah, really?” he said, the reluctance to accept this reality dripping from the words because three minutes is an eternity to a three-year-old.

“Grandfather, okay, One or two or three?” he repeated, seeking a second opinion while holding his fingers up to emphasize his dissatisfaction with my answer and making sure I understood the request.

I tried to be cleverly vague. “A couple.”

“Okay, one is good.”

He stood staring at the structure, waiting for the spraying water elements to turn on. He would occasionally look over to make sure I hadn’t slunk away and to reinforce that he held me personally responsible for adhering to this one-minute schedule.

Once the splash pad came to life, there was a dramatic change in relativity. On this, our last day, we had an hour for him to play in the water until we had to get ready to leave for the airport.

Suddenly, one hour flew by in the blink of an eye to him. He was learning about the differences of time perception.

Reluctantly walking over to our summons, he begged for a little more time.

“Grandfather, one, two, or three more minutes?”

“No, sorry pal, we have to leave.”

“Okay grandfather, one more is good, then ran off to splash one more time.”

“One of the most indisputable facts of life is how much can come from having just one more minute…”

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