My niece, Meris, once asked “What kind of name is ‘Bob’?” This was evidence of what we called the “Generation Gap” (a 1960’s expression). We explained that “Bob” is a shortened form of “Robert”. Meris quickly maintained that “Rob” is short for “Robert”. That’s when we realized that all the examples we threw her way were before her time. Bob Hope? Who? Bob Dylan? Nope. Bob Dole? Uh-uh.

Sandy and I are, what you call, “Baby Boomers”, and we often discuss the fading away of things that were prominent in our lifetimes. I’m not talking about milk men, fallout shelters, green stamps, pay toilets or prizes in your laundry detergent. I’m talking about things used today that will be gone. Not all will be missed, but all are sentimental.

We’ve often discussed that every exit on a road trip will someday be the same. Small businesses no longer dot the landscape on freeway and turnpike exits. McDonald’s, Taco Bell, Burger King, BP, Pilot, Days Inn and Super 8s do. Currently you have to take an additional 20 minutes (and up to an hour) on a trip to exit the road train to see something different.

Traditional bakeries and butchers have been on the decline for years. When was the last time you went to a butcher or bakery? Not at the back of the grocery store, but an honest-to-goodness butcher or bakery with its own storefront. If you’re living in the U.S., (because there are tons in Europe), chances are you don’t frequent either one. They’ve become as antiquated as dime stores. Generation Ys’ and Millenials’ interest in healthy and clean eating continues to surge. This means eating more vegetables and less meat and sugars. (sigh)

No one should be surprised when I say the print edition of newspapers is on the way out.  It can also be predicted that television and radio news will eventually disappear as well. The younger generation simply doesn’t read the newspaper, watch newscasts on television or listen to the radio. They graze Yahoo!, Google and the Huffington Post focusing on news that is appealing, feels good or caters to their own opinions.

This is good news for trees, but what will we use to line our bird cages? Clean streaks off of windows? Make funny hats with? Or paper train your puppy?

In the same vein, books and magazines (and eventually libraries) will vanish. Many say they will never give up the physical book, including me. You hold it in your hand; it feels good and smells delightful.

Today you can browse an online bookstore and read a preview before you buy. The price is less than half of a real book and free if you borrow a digital book from the library. Stuart, my youngest, bought my iPad Mini a cover that looks and smells like a leather book. I then began sliding my fingers on the screen to turn virtual pages. I became lost in the story and I forgot I was holding a modern gizmo instead of a book.

Still, I’ve yet to convert to digital cookbooks. How will I know favored recipes if there are no food stain splatters or notes (“Yummy!”, “A+”, “One bite will kill you” or “Needs a lot of wine to get this down”) in the margins?

I once prepared a teenager’s tax return in which he owed the state of Kentucky a small amount. He had no personal check (surprise, surprise) so I directed him to the Post Office to obtain a Money Order. When he came back, I provided an envelope and instructed him to put his return address on the envelope. He wasn’t sure where his return address should be placed. I pointed to the upper-left corner and went to retrieve a stamp. When I came back, he had written his return address, in one line, across the top of the envelope. Ladies and gentlemen, E-mail, Social networking, online bill payment options, eCards, Fed Ex, and UPS, will put a nail in the coffin of the United States Post Office. So out goes the mailbox, stamps and the Most Wanted List.

We virtually have banks in our pockets using our smartphones. With the increased popularity of credit/debit cards, online bill payment, Apple Pay and PayPal, the paper check will soon disappear. The government has stopped issuing paper checks for Social Security, disability, welfare, and other benefits. Recipients receive payments through direct deposit into a bank account or a prepaid card. Somewhere down the line, using the phrase “the check is in the mail” and referencing “checking accounts” will have the next generation scratching their heads. The traditional, brick-and-mortar bank is beginning to die off as will traditional bank tellers and face-to-face meetings with asset managers.

What about cash? I’ve actually experienced a Salvation Army’s red kettle fitted with a credit/debit card machine that prints a receipt! There’s support to eliminate the American penny, but I don’t think all cash will be rendered obsolete. What are the drug dealers, hit men, prostitutes and panhandlers going to do?

70 percent of residential landlines have gone to wireless and cable carriers. Our choice to utilize a landline will be taken away as early as the next decade because phone companies want to dismantle networks of copper landlines. Phone booths, (what will Superman do?), answering machines and Yellow Pages will vanish as well. How will you show your dismay during a phone conversation if you can’t “slam” the headset? Think about the phrases related to traditional phones. Hopefully the youth of today watch enough Loony Tunes to understand that a phone can be “hung up” or “dialed”.

When I speak of “dear departed fashion”, I’m not talking about trends, such as acid-washed jeans and Hammer pants; I’m talking about an absolute ending to certain garments, and style.

Along with special occasions (funerals, Holy Days and weddings), my Dad wore a tie every Sunday. Today, the tie’s demise is evident everywhere. Sales have dropped to half. At the 2013 G-8 Summit, Barack Obama, Vladimir Putin and other world leaders were sans ties. Corporate dress code policies are relaxing and no longer require ties.

What about the ladies? Young ladies don’t know what trousseaus or a bride’s “going away outfit” is.

I know my slips and half-slips have been in the back of my drawer for at least 10 years. Camisoles, Spanx, boy-cut panties and leggings keep panty lines at bay and hide your figure under see-through skirts and blouses.

We used to set aside a whole day for ironing. Today, Millenials rarely, if ever, iron. Most fabrics don’t require ironing. Driers take care of most of the wrinkles. The younger folks don’t have time and believe the wrinkles don’t look that bad.

Along with the vanishing of Go-Go Boots, it’s “lights out” for shoe repair shops. The huge influx of cheap shoes from abroad now makes it cheaper to replace shoes than to repair them.

A couple of weeks ago my niece, Jessica, her son and I went to Cincinnati’s Coney Island. We sat at the edge of Sunlite Pool with our feet dangling in the cool water, watching Will splash and “swim”. Looking around I noticed no one was wearing bathing caps. There was a time when almost all females wore one. It protected your coiffure and kept damaging chlorine and murky lake water away from your hair and ears. Today’s hairstyles are wash and wear with the “slept-in” look prevalent.

So unless you’re at a professional swim meet or your local public pool requires them, you won’t see much of these any more.

On a recent visit to Sandy’s, our great-nephew, Will, came to say goodnight. Aunt Sandy asked “Did you brush your teeth and wash your feet?” (Puzzled looks all around). Children no longer play in their bare feet (it’s too dangerous). When we were children, we did. To keep her sheets clean, Mom always reminded us to brush our teeth and wash our feet.

Will just graduated Kindergarten and may never experience chalkboards and clap erasers or playing dodge ball at recess.

With the decrease in paper consumption by 90% in the next decade, he may not experience pens, pencils, pencil sharpeners and erasers or cursive handwriting for much longer. It’s mind-boggling!

I understand that nothing is permanent. The world is simply changing.

I’ll miss telling time on an analogue clock and my “Baby Memes” wall calendar. On the other hand, I won’t miss cable, unfolding a paper map on a road trip or can openers.

What are you sorry to see go? What don’t/won’t you miss?

My mother believed her children should be exactly like her. Whenever I said or did something she didn’t like, she’d say angrily “You’re just like your father!” Even at a very young age, I took it as a compliment.

I admired my Dad. I love him dearly. He’s been gone over 30 years now (after a lengthy fight with cancer) but at the same time, he’s with me always. As my mother liked to remind me, a lot of my characteristics come from my Dad.

I think my Mom, Irene, younger brother, and friends all knew a different man. This is MY version of him.

When I was very young, I thought Dad was the biggest, tallest man in the world; taller even then his hero, John Wayne (which he took great pleasure in telling me had a real name of Marion Morrison) and certainly taller then any of the Uncles or friends of the family. He smiled almost all of the time showing a gold tooth two positions from the front (and long before it became popular with hip-hoppers).

He had a great sense of humour and seemed to enjoy just about everything. He was a poet, a musician and an artist (another of his talents I inherited and passed down to my son). A free spirit, if you will, that probably should never have gotten married, but for his own reasons, did. I’m certainly glad of it, or else, I wouldn’t be here!

Most people remember him as being a quiet man and I agree, to a point. It was years before he spoke to me. He worked midnights at Fleetwood (a General Motors plant in Detroit) and every night, Irene and I would call out “Good night, Dad!” as he left the house at 9 pm to go to work. I was in shock when one night, he actually turned around and mumbled goodnight to us.

Mom and Dad were European. The women took care of the children. The men worked. Dad didn’t know how to interact with us. All of the discipline was left to Mom (and she was good at it!). He never changed a diaper, or played catch with us, or had talks with us about our boyfriends. If there was a concern, he’d discuss it with Mom, then Mom would talk to us. His job was to provide and he did. We ate well, stayed warm and had shoes and a new Easter outfit every year. He took us to Church and taught us Lithuanian traditions. He taught us how to forage and make a meal out of scraps. He showed us how to survive.

For Dad, family came first. Always. Extended family and friends were second (there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for someone in need) and, on his list, fun came third.

He would come home from work early in the morning and prepare himself a meal (his dinner). If one of us came into the room, the plate was immediately given to us. He either started over for himself or went without. It didn’t occur to me that he was hungry. I just loved his cooking so I always accepted the plate. We’ve even named meals after him: There are the pancakes with an entire apple slice in the middle, his braised chicken in “white sauce” and of course, Eggs Adolfas (a hole ripped in the middle of grilled bread with an egg in the center and chives on top).

I should mention my Dad’s name was Adolfas (pronounced Odd-DULF’) or Adieu’ for short. In our family, children called all of the male family friends “Uncle” or “Pan” (the Polish version of Mr.). Not my Dad. They called him by only his last name. Not Uncle, not Mr. or Pan. They simply called him “Kisonas” (KEY’-shon-us).

He was born in Lithuania, was in the Resistance during WWII, captured and put in a camp. Please read this wonderful article my brother, Ray Kisonas, wrote about him a few years ago for The Monroe Evening News.

The War and all he endured had a tremendous impact on Dad. I think that was why he enjoyed life so much. He loved hunting, fishing and entertaining. Every year, he threw a huge, wonderful New Year’s Eve party. He made sure the kids were entertained; not just the adult guests. He’d provide hundreds of balloons that he’d blow up and then slip coins and dollar bills in some of them. He’d hang them on strings and totally cover the ceiling in the “junk room”. At midnight, the kids would jump up and pop the balloons and find surprises inside. Once, I was so small that I didn’t reach even one balloon in time. All of the older kids popped them all. I was devastated and ran to my room to cry in the dark. Dad came in with a handful of broken balloons. He gave me a pin and sat in the dark stretching and sucking the broken balloon parts into his mouth to make tiny balloons. After twisting the tiny balloon shut, he’d have me pop it. I popped plenty of balloons that night.

New Year’s wasn’t the only time for a party. Dad had impromptu parties all of the time. If someone dropped by unexpectedly (any time of day or night), we partied! Mom would cook and Dad would entertain. There was always Wodka under the sink for regular visitors and Nalefka (a home made liquor) on the windowsills for those visitors Dad thought special and worthy. Inevitably, a deck of cards would make it to the table and suddenly, that quiet man everyone knew would disappear and be replaced with a loud, gregarious, singing and laughing man.

Irene was the oldest and Mom ‘claimed’ her immediately: teaching her washing, ironing, and all the things she thought was important for a girl to know. My Dad, well, he got me. Almost 5 years later my brother was born, but it was a few more years before he was old enough to do much so, in the meantime, my Dad had me cleaning mushrooms, skinning deer, gutting pigs and scaling and filleting fish.

Once, he was teaching me how to properly cut up a pheasant. When he finished and was naming all of the ‘parts’, I wanted him to know I was really, really interested. I pointed to some parts that he neglected to name and asked what it was. He stammered, avoided eye contact, got more and more flustered then apologized and quickly walked out of the room. It turned out it was a male bird.

One of my favourite past-times was staying up late with him and watching the late movies. We watched westerns and war movies starring John Wayne (whose real name is Marion Morrison, by the way), Henry Fonda and Gregory Peck. He would tell me stories during commercials, explaining his perspective and what was omitted from the war movies.

He also watched Match Game. He would sit and watch intently every day – for years. I thought it was his favourite show. Gene Rayburn asking the questions (Phil said, “Judy won’t go near my water bed until I give her BLANK.”). Richard, Charles and Brett giving funny answers to fill in the blanks. I found out the real reason he was watching when he finally asked, “What is ‘Blank’?” Apparently, it wasn’t a word that had a Lithuanian equivalent and he thought if he watched long enough, he would figure out it’s meaning. I explained the best I could but I’m still unsure if I succeeded.

Almost weekly, Dad spent time with “the girls” (I think Mom needed a break and forced us on him). Again, he didn’t know how to interact with us – was so very uncomfortable, and so he did what he knew best. He ignored the fact that we were young girls and just took us along with him on his normal day. Each week, he took us to the asylum or slaughterhouse and then the beer garten.

I’m positive that a large percentage of you are squirming or aghast or, at the very least, puzzled. Let me assure you, I had a great childhood. I will remind you that it was the 60s and my parents were European farm folk. He had things to do and it just never occurred to him NOT to take us. My Aunt was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, a result of the War, and in the 60s, the ‘cure’ was commitment. Uncle didn’t drive so Dad took him for a weekly visit and we got to tag along. At the slaughterhouse, we were entertained by headless chickens running around while Dad made his purchases. The beer garten was where he met with friends and while he visited, we were given nickels for the jukebox and shuffleboard and served Cokes in green bottles served with the glass tipped over the bottleneck and French Burnt Peanuts.

Family outings consisted of picnics, mushroom picking or fishing (of course) at Belle Isle, Kensington or Elizabeth Park. All of the men would fish for hours and throw their catches in a ‘community’ metal washtub on shore. Once, I felt so sorry for the fish, I told my Dad that it was crowded and they needed more water. I took a coffee can and would wade out into the lake and scoop up water. When I poured it into the washtub, I would sneak a few of the fish in and release them secretly. I meant to only release a few but, before I finished, I had released almost 40 and only 3-4 dead ones remained. My Dad could have been angry; he should have been, but he wasn’t. He laughed and even smoothed things over with the other men.

He was proud, independent and super intelligent (another trait that I inherited) and it hurt me deeply when people talked to him slowly, as if he were stupid. A lesson to everyone: just because someone has an accent doesn’t mean they don’t have a brain! There literally wasn’t anything Dad couldn’t do. He (and the Uncles) could fix everything! (a trait my nephew, Ryan, inherited.) To this day, I measure other people against him: mechanics, painters, carpenters, cooks, builders, roofers, etc. I don’t consider anyone “good” if they’re not better at it than Dad – and few are. Look up ‘handy man’ in Webster’s and it should have his name there.

An unconventional upbringing? Yes, we had one. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We learned respect, relaxation, and responsibility. We learned about family, religion, tradition, loyalty and generosity.

I am blessed. I’ve had so many great ‘fathers’ in my life: my husband, son, brother, brother-in-law and so many friends – and the best of all, my Dad.