Making memories, keeping and losing them

>>  Friday, January 05, 2018

This touched a cord with me:

I met an Auschwitz survivor in Greece at a synagogue.  I noticed the tattoo and asked him.  He was a lovely old man.  How many balloons must he have been carrying.

This has reminded me of the poem I shared with you once before:

The Little Boy and the Old Man Shel Silverstein

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
I know what you mean," said the little old man.”


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