Look, I think that I am well-informed and educated. Nonetheless, I, like millions of Americans, was depressed politically, realizing that Donald the Dumb could become president again in three months. Then, like Houdini, Americans escaped being in a box that assured that Trump would be re-elected in three months.

A majority of Americans felt like America was going to drown. However, Biden decided not to run. Talk about an example of deus ex machina. Vice-President Kamala Harris entered the race without any competitors. One day was dark and dismal, and the next day was bright and hopeful.

In this positive maelstrom, Harris got accolades from both young and old. Hey, I was delighted and enthusiastic about the next three months. I compared that transformative moment to Obama running for the presidency in 2008. The parallels were obvious.

Nonetheless, back then, words like weird, brat, brat summer, coconut, coconut summer, childless cat lady, etc., were not used or have different meanings today. I noticed that Charlie XCX tweeted, “kamala IS brat.” Who is Charlie XCX? Remember, I’m well-informed. I had to google who Charlie XCX was.

Then Michelle, my youngest daughter, posted this photo on Facebook.

That is the backstory. Into my conundrum, I realized I hadn’t stayed abreast of the younger generation like those of the Gen X and Z groups. I realize I was unaware of the mindsets of those born forty or more years after me. Interestingly, I taught college students ranging in age from Gen X to Gen Z. This backstory explains my awareness gap.

I have written about my first trip to Myanmar countless times. I wanted to travel to that country to interview the Lady, Aung San Suu Kyi. I couldn’t even find someone to forward my email requests to her.

However, while traveling near Inle Lake, I had a tour guide, Moh Moh San. She had to pick up my itinerary at her home after I left Inle Lake. Then, she added that her oldest daughter, Ti Ti, was home on winter break. We walked into their home to find her nine-year-old daughter, who greeted me with, “Hi. My name is Ti Ti. Do you want to play some games?”

Ti Ti and I are firstborns, which means we are competitive and driven to win in the game of life. We sat on the floor to play Scrabble; I wasn’t driven to beat some young kid. I was there to have fun, but Ti Ti wasn’t.

Ti Ti went to a small bookshelf and got a pad of paper and a pencil. She returned, wrote a word on the top of the page, and handed the pad and pencil to me. I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t any board or dice. Ti Ti could read my bewilderment and said, “I thought you knew how to play Scrabble. Here, I’ll show you.”

At the time, I thought Ti Ti’s comment was cute, and we played Scrabble together. Any person I have spoken to about Ti Ti has heard this story. At the end of the game, I started to get up, but she said that she had to add up the score. I obeyed, sat back, and watched a determined nine-year-old tally the score. Then her eyes seemed three times their actual size as she declared, “I won. I knew I could beat you.” I quickly responded by sticking my finger in her face and saying, “Young lady, don’t you ever forget this. You beat me in my game, in my language, in your country.”

Jump ahead a decade. I recently joined WhatsApp. I posted to Ti Ti’s page, “Ti Ti, guess who?” To which Ti Ti responded, “OMG! Papa Al.” After Ti Ti recovered from the shock that her Papa Al was connected to WhatsApp, I wrote a paragraph about all sorts of items. I added that I’d chat with her the next morning, her time. We chatted early in the morning in Bangkok, which is 12 hours ahead of Chicago time. It was delightful to have a video chat with her. After ending the video call, I noticed I hadn’t posted my comments the day before. So, I posted it and added, “I just realized that my message didn't go out. Duh.”

Ti Ti told her loving and aging grandfather, “I'm glad to see that you are still catching up on the technology stuff of this era. Take care and have a wonderful sleep Papa Al.” In a recent essay, I spent several hours cutting down a tree in my front yard on a hot summer afternoon. By the evening, I was dead tired and ended my article with, “I went to dreamland and slept like the proverbial log.”

I realize that Biden and I are getting old. He handed the torch to Kamala, and I’m handing it to Ti Ti.