A little boy playing on the beach saw this solitary grey haired veteran walking on the sands close to where the waves ebbed and flowed. Every few steps, the old man would pick up something and throw it back into the sea. The boy ran up and saw to his surprise that the old man was, in fact, throwing starfish back into the sea. His little brown eyes wide open, the boy asked,
“What are you doing, Grandpa?”
“What do you think?” replied the old-timer, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Throwing… starfish… into the… sea?” asked the lad, scratching his head.
“Yup!”
“But, Grandpa, there are so many,” the boy looked up and down the beach.
Hundreds of starfish lay beached on the sands at low tide. He bent down, picked up a small fish and threw it back; then another, and yet another. He stopped and looked up.
“Are you going to throw all of them in? The sea will drop them back again tomorrow at low tide. How many can we save?” he continued.
“What do you figure? Can we save all of them?” asked the old man sending an orange star splashing into deep blue.
“I guess not! Well! Not all of them anyway!”
The old man picked up another and sent it flying into the ocean.
“But definitely that one! Right!”
“Right!”
“You see, kid,” he continued straightening his back with a sigh. “It’s not how many we were able to save, but the ones we have saved that matter.” He swept his gnarled palm expansively at the shore line and continued. “I may not be able to make a difference to all of them.” He paused, picked up a starfish, flicked it out to sea and looked into innocent eyes, three score years younger, “But, it definitely makes a difference to that one…”
The sun sinking into a fiery red ocean smiled at the two figures throwing starfish into the sea.
