EDDY'S PAGE
by Eddy Robey M.A.

A great many of my words are missing. There would be no point in mourning them, nor blaming anyone save myself. Last month, whilst installing some new software, over a year's worth of scribbles disappeared from my desktop. Yes, I should have had them backed up in a better fashion, but didn't do it.

It was not the first time something of this sort had happened. A couple of years ago, our dear editors were kind enough to replace those of my files which were also in their possession. Yes, I learned a lesson from that previous mistake, but didn't have the sense to apply my hard-won knowledge.

Would this latest mishap have been averted had my friends not been of so much help before? Probably not, because it had seemed to me that the new precautions in place were enough to handle any more trouble. I goofed, as we all do at times. There's naught to be done, save keep writing, and hope to do a better job of hanging on to the next lot.

Right this moment, there is some more technologically conscientious reader saying to himself, "What an idiot."

That is why I have told you this story. Of late, it seems as though every other person I meet is talking about some idiot. When meeting a friend for lunch, I have learned to avoid asking about their drive, in order to keep from hearing about the idiot in traffic, but most tell me anyway. Heaven forbid that our meal should be planned for after a morning of shopping, because that surely means I will be learning about all the idiot salespeople, cashiers, or drivers in the parking structure. For the same reason, I've found it is advisable to shun political conversations over dinner, since people are forever referring to anyone who disagrees with them by that detested epithet.

I too, have been guilty of this sort of thinking. A few years ago, I remember walking through a supermarket and seeing a package of instant oatmeal. Huh? Making oatmeal requires pouring some rolled oats in a bowl, covering them with water, and cooking in the microwave for one minute. Who in the world would pay a premium to buy instant oatmeal which takes longer to prepare and is less tasty? Well, I later saw a box of that silly stuff in the kitchen of a gal pal who has an MBA, and could certainly not be described as an idiot.

How objectifying that word is, how disrespectful of human frailty. Are any of us so perfect that we can afford the hubris of denigrating others? I think not. We can argue, disagree, or stamp our feet and pout: but let us not lose regard for the dignity of our fellows.

I am grateful this November. When sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner, I will say a special blessing for friends such as Michael and Arnold who know that I am sometimes foolish, but will smile at my foibles, and extend a helping hand. Many of my words are missing. With G-d's help I shall write more of them. May they be gentle ones.