In my youth, in American circles I was known as Christina's son, or, on the other side of the Atlantic, "Kiki's Sohn." Kiki was my mother's nickname, and I am her son. But I am George's son, as well. Since both my parents have been members of the Holy Choir for many years now, at this advanced point of my life, God has called upon me to speak up.
Why should anyone listen to or read what I have to say?
As a start, I write this to an unusual event in Los Angeles. It is pouring rain. Beyond that, I have invested forty-five years as a student and as a teacher in public and private schools, colleges, and universities in eight cities, in five countries, on four continents. For most of those travels, I thank my father, George Mayer, who saw to it his only son saw the world at a very young age. My father was a brilliant man, a man of many talents. I am going to share some of his brilliance with you here, and since Mother Nature prompts me to relinquish more of my youth by the day, I have a bit of wisdom my own to share, gained in exchange for youth.