Now that I am perilously close to 70 I find the aging process seems to increasingly have a funny (odd, not humorous) effect on memory. Frequently it can result in vexing family-inclusive searches of the home, car, or clothing for such things as glasses, keys or wallets which you swear you had in your hand just a few moments earlier. A couple of weeks ago I spent 10 minutes looking for my glasses that were resting comfortably on my forehead. What is stranger still is the sudden appearance of vivid memories of events long ago lost in time. I had one of those today while reading my Kindle. The Kindle has this fantastic feature where you just press on an unfamiliar word and the definition pops up for you. This is particularly valuable if you are reading some technical or older volumes. Seeing this definition brought about a memory of third grade so vivid I thought I was sitting in the room where it happened. In elementary school, I was a behavioral problem (a real pain in the ass). This one day I was sent to the principal's office for fighting on the playground. Mrs. Frizzelle was the principal at the time and she was running out of options for punishment. Missing recess, standing in a corner, or notes to home were ineffective. She threatened me with a ruler once, I laughed out loud, she laughed and that was the end of that threat. So she devised the ultimate punishment (she thought). She produced a giant book that turned out to be the Oxford English dictionary. Up to that point, it was the biggest book I had ever seen. With it was a block of paper and pencil and in a stern voice she said: "you sit here and copy every one of these words and definitions until I tell you to stop." This became my standard form of punishment. After a while, she caught on to my plan. She noticed an uptick in my being sent to the principal's office. One day she said, "Phillip, are you making an effort to get sent down here.?" I held out for a moment but then fessed up, " I really like your big book" said I. She thought for a moment and instead of saying "you behave or you will never see this book again' she said," when you want to, tell Miss Bergeron that you have to visit the principal's office." This was no problem for Miss Bergeron because we had 28 kids in the class, probably thought I was deserving of a trip there and she was glad to be rid of me. My behavior improved markedly because when you're in a little conference room with a book, a pencil and a block of paper it's hard to misbehave. To that one event and a very perceptive Principal Frizzelle, I can now attribute to my love of words. As a side note, both of my children had Miss Bergeron for third grade. I approached with trepidation the initial teacher's conference. Perhaps she wouldn't remember me? After all, it was 25 years since she had seen me. No chance. The first thing Miss Bergeron said upon my entry to her room was, "you should be pleased to know your daughter isn't at all like you." I was pleased indeed.