Why do I remember my grandma and her poems?
And her guiding me into acting the part of "Otto Frank" as a freshman?
How old men feel. How parents love. How Otto lead the Hannakah prayer with love and dignity. What the menorrah is. And what the candles mean.
I was but a child in a play. She was old. Wise. Knowing. A nuns life of learning all in her past. And a family beyond her failing as a nun.
Beloved. My grandma. Now gone. Oh that I had payed her what was due. I can't now.
Another sniggly question.
When was it written that when one grows old, one loses his ability to relate to kids whot wander on about this and that and always assume that their wanderings are important to old farts like me?
Have you no sense of ... proper being?
Explain this minute what and who all these silly new things and games and such are!
Just kidding. Actually, I have to program a whole bunch of new stuff for my "salespersons" to use each day.
That said. Ahem.
It ain't easy getting old. How many of you kids under forty have called your grandparents this past month?
I'll tell you. Not many. Did you ever ask them about their grandparents?
Thought not.
Do.