Yesterday was my son’s 47th birthday. His son, James is 6.

They brought with them one of the new virtual reality cameras now on sale to the public.

People my age either neglected technology or struggled mightily with which button to push.

A luddite, covid constrained, my only tudors were my sons. The older quit answering the phone. The aforementioned younger eventually made the limits clear: “I’m not your technology ( blank ) or prostitute.” I did ask a lot. Hell, you need a lot

My brightest friend (not a long list) simply gave up. Screw a password.

A ten year tennis camper once yelled me, up in the shaded tower, “Hey, we need some help down here!”

Every age needs some kind of help.

I saw recently a youngster has created a support group for seniors comprised of young capables .

And, my offspring revealed a crucial moment in tech: Age 47 asked age 6, “…how do you change from

roller coaster to menu?” James told him how.

Guess that means when you turn 47 the young ones take over.

My wife is one of six kids. The funniest is Raymond. He is also the best and most consistent beer drinker. We zoomed the remaining siblings today. During the session someone asked a question of Ray, noting there was no beer in hand.

“Haven’t had a beer since November” Ray informed us. Silence. “I do have a periodic sip of wine” he continued. Like what ? was asked.

“Well, we drink a bottle of wine each night. I pour Bev a small glass and I sip the rest.”

‘The Point” at Emerald Isle changes daily. At low tide sand now splits the channel half in two. Wife type viewed it earlier today and mused “I think one could swim over to Bear Island at low tide. Maybe Nancy and I will try that. We would probably need life preservers.”

And SEA TOW. Oops–I could have talked all day and not said that.

Single in 1965 I never cooked. Married in 2021 –still can’t. When my roommates Joe Robinson and Phil Nordan and I got off work someone would eventually say “lets go eat”! Next would be “where do you want to go?” Then ” I don’t care Anywhere is fine with me.” Then, “me either”. Next–“…nah–I don’t want to go to Parkers.” Followed by 6 or so suggestions and rejections. Then we’d go to THE GOLDEN WEED.

Several of the high school football coaches would often be there and football was often the topic. Lesley Farris was the owner and would join us. One of the Coaches told Lesley not to tell them how to coach the team and they wouldn’t tell him how to cook the beans.

This isolation period reminds me of those days. What to eat tonight? Bless my bride, Margaret . She has been a trouper. My five year old grandson on his checklist admitted “… I didn’t do too well on vegetables!” Me either James.

So after this morning’s “what are we going to eat tonight?”followed by several personal staples (bean salad, rice, mac and cheese, burgers, spaghetti) were culled) I offered “… anything, but don’t ever put a goddamned brussell sprout in front of me again.”

That’s when the pan hit me.

Hang on –the vaccinations are working.

One of my grandsons, Lennox, is undefeated. Told me so. He is five and lives in Boulder and we Facetime frequently. We were talking earlier this week and I remembered to ask him if he had received the letter I had recently mailed him.

He looked quizzically at his Dad who said it had not arrived. Lennox, wide eyed and excited, said he was going to the mailbox. Dad said he had already got the mail and the letter wasn’t there. Quiet followed.

Lennox then asked me, “… did you get my letter to you?” I told him I had not.

His Dad then asked Lennox when he had mailed me a letter?

Slyly Lennox revealed “… I really haven’t written it yet.”

One- ups- man-ship is a thing of beauty.

As a pre-teen and younger I was a tag along with my Mom and my older Sister to visit a couple with three daughters. Often Mom and Sis would try to make me aware of the middle girl, who was about my age. “Better be nice to that one, boy. The day is coming!” At 10 years in 1950 my gang was shooting Yankees and Germans on the Dan River banks or the city dump. Or playing tackle football. No girls allowed.

At 12 years old we moved. Fond of my lost buddies I stayed in touch by mail, or occasionally rode the bus to visit. Soon the older ones changed topics. About driving time they were myopic. “Have you guys been noticing ( name withheld)?” To “God Amighty. She’s filling that blue blouse out!” To ” how could we have neglected her?” To”holy shit!” she’s killing me!”

My bad, Sis.

But never did my Father do his duty. Should the male warn their offspring of obvious preteen ignorance? “That un is gonna ripen up soon, Knothead. All you gotta do is be nice for a little while!”

I have three Grandsons. Maybe its Pop’s job to clue them in on what’s important!