"I don't care for the heels", she said.

I knelt.

A twig had fallen from the oak we were sitting under.

"Look at this," I said.

I bent the end of the twig and snapped a small piece.

I snapped another. Then another. And another.

"Your neighbor, the heel, he's younger than you right?"

"Sure is. Has no respect for his elders. None of the heels do."

I put the twigs into a staggered line, like runners on a track.

I pointed at the twig in front.

"Think of this piece of twig as your neighbor.

And think of this twig as his father.

The line is staggered because his dad probably had him in the middle of his life. Not the end.

We usually count someone's age as the time elapsed since they were born. That would just be the length of this one twig.

But imagine if we counted someone's age as the length of all these twigs that represent their lineage."

I grabbed a second twig and started laying out a second line.

"Why are you making another line?"

I finished placing the 12th piece of twig and took a slow, deep breath.

"This right here, this is you. And this staggered twig is your dad. And this one, your grandfather. And so on and so on.

Science tells us something amazing. When we measure people's age like this, our 'genetic' age, then all of us humans alive today, you, me, the heels, we are all exactly the same genetic age, down to the millisecond."

I gestured to her line of twigs.

"Now, think about all the births and deaths; the wars; the famines; the accidents; the unexplainable, heartbreaking, terrible tragedies.

The Devlins, you went through a lot, but you made it, right?"

"Sure did. Devlins are smart and tough."

"I believe you."

I took a deep breath and looked up at the oak.

"The Heels".

I pointed again to the first line.

"They made it too."