57 Years From Now

Assignment: 57 Years From Now

Objective: Write a narrative from the perspective of your 70-year-old self, describing a conversation with a child about what life was like when you were young.

Step 1: The Time Jump (Visualization) First, let’s do the math. If you are roughly 13 years old now, in 57 years you will be 70 years old.

• Imagine yourself at 70: Where are you sitting? Do you have gray hair? Do you move slowly?

• Imagine the world: Are there flying cars? Is it very quiet?

• Imagine the child: It could be your grandchild or a neighbor. They are curious about "the old days" (which is right now, 2025!).

Step 2: The "Time Capsule" (Brainstorming Memories) In the video, the man remembered playing "Cowboys and Indians." What will YOU remember about today?

• Games: Fortnite? Roblox? Football in the street?

• Feelings: The feeling of running fast without your knees hurting? The feeling of Summer Break?

• The Best Part of Now: Having no bills to pay? Hanging out with friends every day?

Step 3: Writing Structure Use this outline to organize your story:

• Introduction (The Setting):

  • Set the scene in the future. Describe your "old" self and where you are.

  • Example: "I sat in my rocking chair on Mars Colony 4, my old bones aching..."

• Body Paragraph (The Question & Memory):

  • The child asks you a question (e.g., "Grandpa, what was school like?").

  • You describe a specific memory from now. Use sensory details (sights, sounds).

• Conclusion (The Advice):

  • Give the child advice based on what you miss, just like Dez did in the video.

  • Example: "I looked at him and said, 'Don't hurry to grow up. Enjoy the sunshine while you can.'"

Model Answer

The Dusty Football

The year is 2082. My knees clicked loudly as I sat down on the bench in the garden. The air was quiet, except for the hum of the cleaning robots sweeping the street. A little boy, no older than seven, ran up to me holding a strange, round object covered in dust. "Grandpa ," he asked, tilting his head, "what is this thing? It’s not digital."

I laughed, a dry, raspy sound. "That," I said, taking the object gently, "is a football. Real leather." I closed my eyes and suddenly I was back in 2025. I could smell the rain on the asphalt and hear my friends shouting my name. "When I was your age," I told the boy, "we didn't just play games with our thumbs on a screen. We ran until our lungs burned. We scraped our knees and got our clothes dirty. We played until the sun went down and our mothers called us inside for dinner. That ball was my best friend."

The little boy looked at the ball with wide eyes. He didn't understand running until his lungs burned. I handed the ball back to him and patted his shoulder. "Do me a favor, kid," I whispered. "Put down your tablet for an hour. Go outside and kick this ball. You have strong legs now—use them before they get old and stiff like mine."