This article was intended to be another installment of two photos that I sent to Ti Ti. The first set of photos were of me as a toddler. The second group related to my senior prom date when we graduated from high school. My third installment meant I needed to thumb through my photo albums.

Why did I pick these two photos of myself and a snowman? I don’t have any idea. I assumed that my dad had made a snowman for me in the front yard of our home on Norwood Ave. in Pennsauken, NJ.

It brought back a snowstorm of memories. I remember when my dad removed the old coal furnace from the basement several years later. In the 40s, coal furnaces were the way to heat a home.

However, these two photos were taken before we went to a gas furnace. That’s obvious. The snowman had pieces of coal for the eyes, nose, and mouth.

When I removed the two photos from the album, I noticed for the first time that my dad had written a note to his father, who still lived in the house with my grandmother. Less than a year later, my grandfather died. My parents bought the home from my grandmother, who moved into an apartment. My family lived in the home on Norwood Ave. during my elementary school years.

On the back of one of the photos was a note my dad wrote to my grandfather about the picture of me and the snowman. The brief note was about my grandfather showing me I could be bigger than the snowman. That accounts for my grandfather putting me on the snowman’s head. My grandfather told me by actions and words that I was capable of more than I thought. I was too young to remember my grandfather’s encouraging me to do what I thought was impossible. However, compare my facial expressions. I wasn’t too sure about being bigger than a snowman.

Apparently, my grandfather did this often with me. My father thanked his father for reaching out to me. Often, grandparents have a different mindset than parents. They aren’t like parents dealing with a child 24/7. I don’t recall my grandfather when I was three, but I am grateful for his love. Nonetheless, those encouraging messages were stored in some dark recess in my brain. Strangely, I accessed them even though I don’t recall the snowman and me.

If you follow me when I’m out shopping and I notice a young child I don’t know, I will quack like a duck to make the child smile. I’ll make eye contact with a child when sitting in a doctor's waiting room. I’ll tell the youngster that I am a magician. I fold up a dollar bill and say, “Hocus pocus.” Then, take the dollar bill out of the child’s ear. I’ll give the child the dollar bill, tell the youngster to be a magician, and take it from their parent’s ear. By the time the child gets home, the guy quaking or doing magic has been forgotten. Nevertheless, it is stored in that child’s mind. The more time a youngster feels good about themselves as they begin their journey on their yellow brick road, the greater the chance that the child feels good about themselves as adults.

I have a lengthy list of mentors in my life. Give me the names of any of them, and I can tell you how that mentor helped me. I haven’t met most of the mentors. What fascinates me is remembering forgotten mentors when I was a young child.

On my last trip to Myanmar, my family and I went on a family tour together, including a few places I had been before and places I didn’t know existed. I had visited Bagan before, but this time we flew in a hot-air balloon over the forty square miles of pagodas. We also went to a small village called Set Set Yo. I bet fewer than a hundred American tourists visited Set Set Yo in the 21^st century.

I don’t recall picking up an infant who wasn’t even one year old. Then, it happened. Some old guy from America discovered my great-granddaughter. I call her A Ngal Lay, which means the little one.

Talk about transformative moments in one’s life. A decade before, I met my family. It changed my Weltanschauung or worldview. On my third trip, I discovered my great-granddaughter. The following video includes A Ngal Lay, but it also contains me flipping young children. There are two interesting items about flipping these young children. In the middle of flipping them, my youngest granddaughter, who was seven or eight, wanted to be flipped.

The last youngster that I flipped just remained standing in front of me. She wanted to be flipped again. I was doing what my grandfather did with me and the snowman...leaving a message. A Ngal Lay and those that were flipped won’t remember me. However, in the dark recesses of their brains, there is a message that some old guy saw value in them.

I also met Than Tun Oo, a great artist who was one of my tour guides. He is a good friend of mine. I have several of his paintings in my home...talk about treasures. I had Than paint a picture of A Ngal Lay and me. It haunts me. A Ngal Lay will grow up in a war-torn country, but she won’t remember me. However, she has a painting of her and her great-grandfather.

You can help change the world. It begins with small and seemingly unimportant gestures. This is another of my Kierkegaardian either/or essays. You can reach out to people you don’t know and teach them that you see value in them. A simple smile or quack like a duck will be remembered in the deep recesses of their brain. My grandfather and the snowman changed me, and you can change others.