1939--A GOOD YEAR!

AGE SIX
 During my childhood it was a tradition
that the children (especially sons) 
in a Jewish family had to play the violin.
 And without question, 
excellence was expected...

The year: Nineteen Hundred 

and Thirty-Nine.

Dear mother of mine

heard the word--and

Every Jewish Mother's son

knew he was a 'chosen one'.

Requirement: I learn to play

(no matter what I might say)

 horse-hair-cat-gut, mortal-sin

apparatus called a violin.

SCREEEECH!

And so, as a gift I received

piles of dust, out of dusty piles.

From attic Grandpa retrieved:

you guessed it, a filthy old viol

no hair--no gut. Dried glue did

not hold it together, but rubber

bands did the trick--one slick

instrument repair

TEEEEECH!

Grandpa was not Jewish, you see...

neither was my mother. Nor me.

But everything is OK in the end.

I play violin, celebrate with friends

Rosh Hashanah, Chanukah, EID(!),

Pentecost and the Feast of Stephen.

PRAKTISSSSS!

At an age when greatest of stars

in sports are 'over-the-hill'

I play violin, near and so far

and keep getting better still.

Has nothing to do with the fact

I can no longer hear the trill

SPEEEECH!

But this I say to you, my Peeps

an 'attitude of gratitude' keeps

me happy, joyous and free 

long as God will let me BE.

Blessings.

Love you.

PEEEEEEACE!

--Steve E  (aka steveroni)

PS. To "You know who you are"

I   L O V E  my

Liberty University

security blankee!

Thankee.