I've never been what you'd call a wild child. When I was in grade school, most negative thing teachers used to write on my report cards was "can't keep hands off other students."

In high school, I deliberately skipped class once, but next day, teacher only said, "That's OK. You must've had a good reason," and when I tried skipping classes in college, no one even noticed.

My idea of a rousing Friday night was for Spider McGee, Digger Sanby and me to grab our poles and head for a night's fishing on log boom. One night, three of us were sitting side by side in dark, drinking cocoa and talking about life, when I suddenly felt a tug on my line. I jerked back to set hook, and my pole hit Spider squarely across face.

As he reached up, his hat flew off—right into river. It must have been one of his favorite hats, because a second later, Spider was in water himself. I was now faced with a classic dilemma. My buddy was in water—but I had a fish on line.

Without hesitation, I shouted, "Hey, Digger! Help guy, will ya? I got a fish on here!"

When we'd hauled Spider back onto boom, his drenched red hair and beard made him look like a large waterlogged orangutan—and an angry orangutan. Seems he'd also dropped his pole in water when he decided to go for a swim. I didn't see how he could blame me for his carelessness, but he didn’t seem to be in mood to discuss it.

By time he'd finally stopped whimpering, I'd landed my fish. In true “make do” fashion, Spider tried to salvage night by pulling a bunch of line out of his tackle box and tying whole setup to his ankle. After he'd cast out his makeshift setup, everything was quiet for awhile, until I heard a distinct "OOOF!"

In reality, American family does not need a home. We are born in a hospital, educated in a college, courted in an automobile and married in a church.

We get our food at delicatessen and restaurant. We spend our mornings at golf, our afternoons at club and our evenings romping through local mall.

When we die, undertakers will bury us. We do not need a home; all we need is a garage.

Comparing today's home with its counterpart of 100 years ago, there is quite a difference. With all of our advanced technology, are we, to quote a famous American president, "any better off now than then?"

The average housewife (to use a term not used since adultery was sin) has more timesaving gadgets than her century-ago counterpart. Still, she does not have enough time for her family.

All this time saved by these timesaving devices has to go somewhere. But, where?

Where does "saved time" go? Is there a time warp somewhere in outer space where time goes, like a retirement center for misspent minutes?

Why is it, more time I save less time I have? If only I could collect time in a bottle and save it for old age when I will really need it.

If anyone knows, please let me know for I do not have time right now to figure it out.

Right now, I would not miss an hour here or an hour there.

Today's mother can cook family meal in a fraction of time her grandmother did, but families no longer have time to eat together. Most families today eat in shifts, thanks to modern technology like microwave oven.

It seems like many of today's women are more interested in bringing home bacon than cooking it. Why didn't dear old dad marry a woman like grandma?

In years gone by family spent quality time together. There was a strong sense of family camaraderie and families actually knew each other, and all things considered, loved each other.

People today seem to be so busy trying to make a living that they never really get around to living. I know there are a few high holy days when they do meet, like Thanksgiving and Christmas. Sometimes they even recognize each other.

For many people, only picture we have of great American family is television sitcom.