There are events in one’s life that linger and live on long after they took place and what I’m about to recount is one such happening when just a young lad growing up in France. I remember it in vivid detail as if it were yesterday not decades ago. There are those who actively try to forget or are even encouraged, by those who would be wise, to seek the easier path of erasing a happening, a circumstance that may have been nefarious, perhaps traumatic but I disagree. In my opinion remembering only the good, the happy, and the felicitous would result in a life that lacked salt and pepper, sinew and bone, with only an insipid taste of what’s left, meatloaf instead of filet mignon. How does one learn and grow except through adversity and somehow discovering the wherewithal to overcome and prosper? Oh, the anecdote that follows is neither pivotal nor significant of itself but in time it became the object lesson to understand that even subjected to dismal circumstances pointing the finger of blame resulted in neither joy nor satisfaction. Live fearlessly, don’t duck the unpleasant, deal with it with a stout heart and move on, that’s why good or bad, all memories should be welcomed; they are the sturdy character building blocks that nourish and fortify our personality. While not avoiding my own contribution to what originally was painful in equal measure physical and emotional, fortunately I’ve since discovered much more to celebrate rather than to assign blame.