My dad was at his heartland hangout when he heard a young woman berating her boyfriend:
'Told you not to walk here. So many old people!'
She could have been talking about my retiree dad. He didn't know, but he told me the nasty story coolly.
The young woman will never know that my dad was a one-time hothead who could be combative with uncouth strangers like her.
She has no inkling that he's independent and driven, and has lived sacrificially so he'd see his three beloved daughters fly.
Or that his lean frame belies his past as a double-black-belt taekwon-do expert.
Or that he's sanguine enough to tell me in the next breath: 'Many young people treat me really well.'
I imagine that the young woman buys into the stereotype that older Singaporeans are a sad and invisible lot.
It's a fear that shrinks personal horizons because one day she may needlessly despise her own irreversible ageing.
A stereotype conceals the living story of each person.
In contrast, I love what Oswald Chambers, a Scottish church minister and teacher from the early 20th century, says. Inside every soul lies 'deeper darkness than the nights of earth, higher peaks than any mountain peaks, greater depths than any sea in nature'.
He implies that an astonishing inner landscape lies within each human.
So when we bond with a new friend, it's like exploring an exceptional new country.
If only we can try to discern a little of this in people, instead of dissing them.
Professionally, I'm paid to be curious, so I'm exploring the lives and ideas of people all the time.
I know every person has a story. If someone complains that a newsmaker is colourless, I'm intrigued. Often, he needs a bit of sincere engagement and a world opens up.
Similarly, one friend is intrigued when she's warned that a prospective client is difficult. She rises to the occasion with skill and substance to win the business.
Both of us operate in different spheres. But I think we overlap in one arena - we're interested in people.
I also think people like my father have lives to celebrate.
Member of Parliament Sam Tan of Tanjong Pagar GRC said it so well. We tend to eulogise people who are great and good, he noted.
'But why should we do this only for the giants among us?' he said in Parliament this year.
'Even ordinary people have great stories - their lives can serve to illuminate and educate us in some way.'
Create a social culture to eulogise those in our communities who die, he suggested.
Now, The Straits Times runs uplifting obituaries that reveal the extraordinary in people who seem so ordinary at first glance.
Their choices, sacrifices and stories are celebrated.
The telling of such stories has been raised to an art.
Last year, the Smithsonian celebrated the Vietnamese diaspora in America in an exhibition. The An family, who established the high-end Crustacean restaurant in Beverly Hills, was honoured along with others.
Curious, I soon Googled the family and found this compelling narrative:
'This is the story of fortunes lost and fortunes found, of fate and the phenomenal power of family along with the extraordinary strength of one woman, Helene An.'
She fled Saigon when it fell. She lost everything except the recipes of her elite family, which once hosted opulent dinners prepared by three family chefs.
In the United States, she started a restaurant empire that is now patronised by the stars.
The story is true, if hyped.
In Singapore, I hope more narratives are spun to link one generation to another.
Then maybe we'll have inter-generational bridges.
The bright news is that such bridges exist. My dad still tells me about two young couples who were exceedingly kind to him and my mum when they holidayed in Europe years ago.
The two young men, who were army officers, offered to carry my parents' luggage.
The young people also invited my parents to join them at meals. Even when they wandered in Venice till midnight and got lost, there was fun and laughter.
For a season, their lives and stories meshed. I hope we're alive to such possibilities that glitter all around us.
siewhua@sph.com.sg