My Polish Friend
I take myself for a long walk every day and every day is a unique experience. Today I noticed a lot of Jays flying about. I love Jays. I am always delighted to see such a magnificent blue flash appearing overhead. But there is another reason that I am always pleased to see a Jay. About fifteen years ago I was working in a dental studio. The man who ran the studio fancied himself as a bit of a ladies' man, but I wasn't interested in him at all. It was the old man who did the technical work who held me in thrall. His name was Heinz, and he was in his early seventies. He was short and round, his cropped hair was grey, and he had made his own teeth! He was Polish. We became great friends. We made a very unlikely couple. Me, tall and slim and quite a bit younger than him. I suppose people presumed him to be my dad, but he came to mean much more to me than a surrogate parent. He was so kind even though he had lived through terrible times. He described being poverty stricken while