I am writing this at the age of 81. Your ages range from 16 to 23. You have never known me as a young man, and I will never know you as old ones. We share only a short stretch of time, perhaps 20 or 30 years, about a third of my life.

We do not see one another very often. It is not like the days when you were children and would visit me at my home in Sonoma. Now you are busy building lives of your own, and even three of you no longer live with your parents. I know what that is like. Once I became an adult, I spent very little time with my own parents, let alone my grandparents.

I was once young too. Sometimes I wonder whether, if we had been the same age, we might have been friends. I hope so.

There were occasions when you and I all came together such as a bar mitzvah or an important birthday, like when my father turned 90 or I turned 70. But now we are scattered all over the world.

Perhaps one of you will get married while I am still alive, and the family will come together again for that celebration. But most likely, I will see each of you separately from time to time. Perhaps you will visit me in Italy, where I now live. You will always be welcome.

I wrote a book about my life, The Flight of a Wild Duck. I never expected you to read it when it was published, but it is there, waiting for you if you ever become curious. In the meantime, please ask me questions. Many people, as they grow older, regret not having asked their parents and grandparents more while they still had the chance. I certainly do. So please take advantage of the opportunity I am offering you.

I never had the chance to talk with my father’s parents about their childhoods. I knew more about my mother’s mother, and even her grandmother, because we were all close when I was growing up. Even so, there is still so much I wish I had asked them.

While I cannot know you beyond my own lifetime, I can help you understand where you came from and what shaped the years before you arrived. I hope that one day you will tell some of these stories to your own children, whom I may never have the chance to meet.

Fortunately, we live in a remarkable age. I will leave behind not only letters like this, but books, blog posts, photographs, recordings, and interviews. Your children may someday be able not only to read my words but also to see me, hear my voice, and perhaps know me a little, even though we will never meet. I am hoping to create a digital twin so that they can interact with me, hear my voice, see my face and ask me questions.

I often wonder about the world you will inherit. It will be very different from the one in which I grew up, and it will present challenges I cannot even imagine. I hope I have given you some tools for dealing with that future. You have all had excellent educations, and you will continue learning throughout your lives. But remember that some of life’s most important lessons are not taught in schools. They are learned from experience, from failure, from love, from loss, and sometimes from listening to someone who has simply lived a very long time. I still have much to offer you should you wish. I would love to teach you about the importance of imagination, of the joy in discovery, of responsibility to make the world a better place.

As I write this, I find myself smiling, trying to imagine you, many decades from now, sitting down to write a letter to one of your own grandchildren. If that day comes, I hope you will remember that you are part of a long story, one that began long before you were born and will continue long after you are gone. We each get to write only a few chapters. My hope is that mine will help you write yours a little better and most importantly, you will know the possibilities than only love can offer.

Grandpa Avram