I received a sweet note in the mail complimenting me on a recent column. The writers, a married couple, liked that I noticed the details of life and appreciated them, just as they do.
I was touched by it.
I also recognized his name, and his youthful face came to mind immediately. He came to teach at my elementary school, replacing the elderly Mrs B who taught me, and who had taught my father before me in the self same school, a sweet lady who talked to the teddy bears on the piano (remember when almost all the teacher played piano?) and who called me 'Jerry' because I looked like my father.
Then young Mr. E came to take her place.
I got to thinking about it a little. Mr. E was, say 22 or 23, when he came to teach. I was perhaps 10.
That young man who came to take that elderly teacher's place all those years ago has to be almost 70 himself.
I hate math.