I was exercising at my local recreation park one day, two weeks ago. Huffing, puffing and limping, I made my way to the shaded overhang of the building and the water fountain beneath it. After drinking my fill, I soaked my towel in the cool water that lay shallow in the bottom of the bowl. While wiping my face and neck attempting to cool down my body temperature, I noticed a flyer pasted to one of the nearby doors that led into a crafts room.

"Writer's Class," it said. "Join us every Monday morning at 11:15 A.M.! Learn to write of your early life's experiences."

"Hmmm! Interesting," I thought. "And it's run by the city school district," I commented aloud.

I wasted no time signing up and, to date, I've had two morning sessions with a very informative teacher and about twenty talented writers, all of who have very interesting childhood experiences to relate. While listening to each of their stories, as they read aloud to the others, my perception was that their ability to recall details from their earliest childhood was remarkable. That prompted me to think of and mourn the huge caverns of black holes that existed in my own childhood memory banks. Written from a child's point of view, their personal stories varied from insightful, to poignant, to downright hilarious. At the same time, I found it amazing how well they, as children were able to observe and analyze the profound effects the people who surrounded them had on their young lives. It's a testament to their era.

One day, within the next two weeks, before this session is over, for your enjoyment, I hope to get permission to publish one or two of them in this feature.

EDITOR'S NOTE:
As you see Marty is very interested in the geriatric community. He says that's because he'll be one himself in the not too distant future.