I am sitting on the hotel terrace close to a young German couple. Next to them is a carriage with a baby girl of about twelve months. The carriage is turned toward me. While her parents are having their lunch, the two of us begin communicating. She throws her head on one shoulder, and I do the same. I open my hand, and she does the same. I point my index finger toward the sky, and she looks up. When she points upward, I look up, as well. She is waving at me and smiling toothlessly in no time. Before her parents are finished with their meal, we are the best of friends. Out of the blue, I make a grand conclusion: there is hope for the mankind. No matter who the parents are, or how they are behaving, they cannot ruin a child before the age of twelve months at least. That is quite a fair beginning, no doubt. Twelve months is an awfully long time, too.

Addendum (September 16, 2017)

Almost exactly a decade later, my grand conclusion is enchanting in its innocence. Having come across this piece entirely by chance, I reread it several times over. I could not believe the ease with which I could be bamboozled. And by a little monkey, no less. To this day, though, infants make me smile without fail. More often than not, we establish contact in no time. At first they stare at me incredulously, for my behavior is far from ordinary nowadays, but then they start smiling and waving at me invitingly. As for the hope that surges through my mind on such occasions, it peters away rather quickly. It is enough for me to remember that they will be older than me by the end of this treacherous century. Ouch! Returning to the baby girl from the hotel terrace, she is about eleven already. And going through a similar exercise right now would make me a pedophile in the eyes of her parents. I shudder.