Every once in awhile my mind takes a leap, leaving every conceivable connection with common reasoning far behind. Most of my friends will smile benignly at that statement.

"Just every once in awhile?" would be one commentary thought. "What mind ?" would be the other. Those commentary thoughts are offered lovingly, in jest. They are accepted in the same way. This time my mind took a flying leap right out of the window. That happened when three-year old Lancelot observed my task of putting in a new ink cartridge. He watched the little cartoon dialogue box shaking a little cartridge and he responded. The way he held that cartridge, like holding a kitten by the scruff of its neck and shaking the daylights out of it, I wasn't sure the cartridge would survive. That little action did clear up the mystery of all the animals here going into hiding when Lancelot and his mother arrived.

Lance seemed genuinely interested in the procedure. He was delighted to be given the task of disposing of the old cartridge. He pointed out to his mother that the cartridge was yellow.

I felt that I had once more advanced to another generation, the fourth one this time. And once more there was a child standing near the computer, with those large, inquisitive eyes. And I was teaching again. I was exploring the depth of this new mind and I was thinking of the sentence the wise man said.

"Give a man a fish and he'll eat it. Teach him how to fish and he'll feed his family."

That's how it started with Kalam, that third generation child. Kalam had an immense curiosity for the computer. I did heed the guru's advice. My computer, after all is sacrosanct to be touched only by me or when necessary by the Guru.

"That thing ain't no toy," Clarence grumbled, and he was right. That's how I kept from having a major melt down all these years. Kalam's mother, Barbara, my one and only daughter, was not that restrictive. And Kalam's mother paid the repair bill when Kalam in his own words: FRIED THE MOTHERBOARD. I thought he was spouting out obscenities. Clarence assured me that every computer had a motherboard. I still think that's a funny name for a technical device.

While I did not allow Kalam access to my computer, I did the next best thing. I bought him his first computer. Kalam was well on his way to becoming a computer nerd. Kalam and his friends had computer parties on weekends. It was not uncommon to find eight to ten computers, and the same amount of boys artfully draped and arranged over every surface of the living-room of that farm house. Barb and I supplied the pop, the chips and the dip that goes with appetites ad infinitum. Kalam enjoyed his computer classes and his computer parties.

That was in the not too distant past. Kalam visited last week. He is taller than I am, soft spoken and determined to make his mark in this world. Kalam, supported by his parents plunked down his hard earned cash, took on financial obligations, mortgaged everything that's near and dear to him and his parents as well. Kalam is the proud owner of something called an INTERNET CAFÉ. Those of you who remember songs that weren't necessarily rock may remember a song with the refrain:
TURN AROUND AND YOU'RE TWO, TURN AROUND AND YOU'RE FOUR, TURN AROUND AND YOU'RE A YOUNG MAN GOING OUT OF THE DOOR.
Give a boy a game and he'll play it. Give a boy a computer and he is on his way, determined to become the next Bill Gates.

There are Lance's bright eyes, those inquisitive eyes and that little chin barely big enough to be above the keyboard. I'm glad he is so young. I shall have time to go fishing before this one matures.