Well, yes, I know that my last post was about a year ago.

I really can’t think of a valid excuse for my tardiness, except that life presented me with some personal challenges (like it does to everyone). Now, please don’t think that I wish to complain, but it is true that every day gets a bit more challenging, when you are not eighty anymore. On the plus side of things,I have to say that the advancing age presents you with a mature mind. You see many more opportunities than in your younger years. Sometimes it gets downright impossible to sit down, and concentrate on writing, while you see countless possibilities slipping away. Never the less, I attempted to finish my second book of the Kellner Chronicle series in a timely manner. But, I am sorry to say that it is still not ready to be published. Give me another month, or so. Please.

Let’s see, I wanted to post about a thought provoking incident which occurred about two weeks ago.

The fourteen year old daughter, of a friend of mine, asked me for a favor. Apparently she worked on a class assignment to write about the generation gap.Somehow she figured that I looked old enough to be interviewed. Wondering about the subject matter myself, I had no objection.

Most of her questions were direct, and simple to answer. Then it got more complicated.

“How old were you, when you got your first phone?” She asked.

“I never got a phone” I answered. “I saved my money until I was able to buy one.”

I must have hit a sore spot, because she exchanged looks with her father. “How old?” she repeated.

“Twenty five,” I answered truthfully.

She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “What are your first memories?” she continued her questions.

“Do you mean my first memories, or my most dreadful ones?” I asked in return.

“I mean your first ones,” she maintained.

Her insistence caused me to think hard. There were birthdays, but I could not exactly remember when they happened. Then it came gradually back to me. “I remember cleaning and polishing my dad’s shoes, every evening, before I was permitted to go to bed..”

“You did what?” she asked, with open disgust all over her face..

“You know, keeping my father’s shoes in pristine condition. This was not an option or expectation. It was the normal, and the first thing that a father demanded from his son. You have to remember that this was 1934 and in Berlin,Germany.”

There were no more questions, and I don’t know what she wrote in her report. However, a few days ago, her father told me that she received an “A” on her assignment.

Generation gap? Anyone?