There are some questions so broad they feel impossible to answer, and “What are you curious about?” is one of them. My mind could wander through theology, history, or the future of storytelling. But lately, my answer has become beautifully simple: when I think about curiosity, I think about my grandson, Sully.
Holding him makes me less concerned with the past and intensely curious about the future he’ll grow up in. What will the world look like when he’s my age? What challenges will his generation face? What joys, technologies, and discoveries—things unimaginable to us now—will simply be a normal part of his everyday life?
My curiosity isn’t just passive wondering; it’s active, hopeful prayer. I think about the man he will become and the values that will shape him. I hope he learns to love the Lord with his whole heart, to care for people with the same open, generous spirit his great-grandmother carried so naturally. I hope he can skip a few of the mistakes I made and anchor his life in things that truly matter.
And then there are the smaller joys I dream of sharing: the magic of books, the black-and-white charm of old movies, and the undeniable smoothness of Yacht Rock. In a world that will be even more saturated with technology, I hope to show him the beauty of face-to-face conversations and real connections—the kind that happen away from glowing screens.
Of course, his mother, Lizzi, will shape him more than anyone. My role is different. But I’m so curious, and so hopeful, to see how it all unfolds. My deepest prayer is simply to be present—to sit with him, play with him, and let the lessons I want to share be taught through moments, not lectures.
So when someone asks me what I’m curious about, that’s my answer: I’m curious about the man my grandson will grow up to be, the world he will navigate, and the love he will carry with him. All my big questions about the future now have a small face and a name.
His name is Sully.
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.
