A Grandfather’s Chair

Last week I was fortunate enough to attend the 100th Quad Rugby Tournament at Whanganui Collegiate. Fabulous event. I left feeling deeply moved.

What struck me most was not just the rugby, but the generations standing side by side. Current players mixed effortlessly with Old Boys; fathers, grandfathers, and even great-grandfathers who had once worn the same jerseys, walked the same fields, and shared the same dreams as the young men competing today.

Watching them together reminded me of my grandson, Theo, who is nine years old.

Whenever we sit together, our conversations almost always begin the same way:

“Koro, in the olden days…”

I smile every time.

He still comes and cuddles up beside me, something I treasure more than he could ever know. I am aware that those cuddles may become fewer as he grows older, which only makes them more precious. Yet it is in those simple moments that I am reminded of one of life’s greatest gifts: the opportunity for a young person to sit beside someone who has already travelled the road ahead.

There is something profoundly powerful about listening to an older person tell their story.

Not the polished version.

Not the list of achievements.

The real story.

The mistakes. The disappointments. The dreams that didn’t work out. The failures, the grief, the doubts, the setbacks, and the resilience it took to keep moving forward.

I know I have had my share.

When a young person hears those stories, something remarkable happens.

They begin to understand that life is not a straight line.

They learn that strength is not the absence of struggle.

They discover that the people they admire were not born wise, confident, or successful. They became those things through experience, perseverance, humility, and the courage to keep going when life became difficult.

In a world that celebrates youth, speed, and certainty, there is immense value in slowing down long enough to listen to those who have lived.

Every older person carries a library within them.

A collection of lessons that cannot be found in textbooks.

Stories of love and loss.

Of friendships forged over decades.

Of opportunities taken and opportunities missed.

Of mistakes survived and victories earned.

Of what truly matters when the noise of life fades into the background.

When those stories are shared, they become more than memories.

They become gifts.

At the Quad dinner, I had the privilege of speaking to the young men from the four 1st XV rugby teams. I asked them a simple question:

“Who is in your Hall of Fame?”

Who are the people in your life you will never forget?

Your mum or dad?

A grandparent?

A coach?

A teacher?

A neighbour?

Someone who saw something in you before you could see it in yourself.

Those unforgettable, unmistakable people who shaped your life.

Then I challenged them with another question:

“How can you become that person for someone younger than you?”

Sometimes it takes only a single word of encouragement.

A quiet conversation.

A sincere compliment.

A moment of belief.

One heartfelt comment from an older student can stay with a younger boy for the rest of his life.

Give what you have to those who follow.

You may never fully understand the impact you have, but you will be planting seeds that grow into mighty Kauri trees.

For young people, these conversations provide something we all long for: perspective.

They help us see beyond today’s challenges.

They remind us that setbacks are survivable, that failure is often our greatest teacher, and that the qualities which matter most in life are rarely the ones that attract applause.

For older generations, there is a different gift.

There is meaning in knowing that the lessons learned through a lifetime may help someone else navigate their own journey.

There is purpose in passing on wisdom.

There is joy in seeing the next generation embrace values, traditions, and character that might otherwise be lost.

The distance between generations is often much smaller than we imagine.

A young boy may be wrestling with belonging, friendship, identity, or purpose.

An older man may have wrestled with those very same questions fifty years earlier.

The details change.

The human experience does not.

When generations sit together, barriers disappear.

The young discover wisdom.

The old discover relevance.

Both discover connection.

And perhaps that is what we need more of today.

Not more experts.

Not more influencers.

Not more people telling others what to think.

We need more storytellers.

We need more grandfathers, fathers, coaches, teachers, and mentors willing to share their journey.

We need more moments where a boy can sit quietly beside a man with silver hair and hear the words:

“I’ve been where you are.”

Because those simple words carry hope.

They remind us that none of us walks alone.

That others have faced hardship and endured.

That life’s challenges can be overcome.

That wisdom is not something we discover by ourselves, but something we inherit from those who walked before us.

The strongest communities have always understood this truth.

They create spaces where generations meet.

Where stories are shared freely.

Where wisdom is treasured.

Where young people inherit not only knowledge, but perspective, character, courage, and hope.

Standing at the 100th Quad Tournament, watching generations of men connected by a school, a jersey, and a shared history, I was reminded that the greatest legacy we leave is not measured in trophies, titles, or achievements.

It is measured in the lives we influence.

The encouragement we give.

The stories we share.

The example we set.

Because in the end, the greatest lessons in life are rarely taught.

They are passed from one generation to the next…

Lumen accipe et imperti (receive the light and pass it on).

One story, one conversation, one young life at a time.

Glen Denham

Headmaster