"So?" the caregiver responded, giving me the quizzical look usually reserved for my 2-year-old when he is in denial about filling his pants, or drawing pictures on the sofa upholstery.
"I sense history catching up with me," I glumly concluded.
"When I was young, my grandmother spent many hours telling me about the war and the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, that triggered the catastrophe.
"Her accounts of Germany invading neutral Belgium and Luxembourg, leading to the terrible slaughter in the trenches, is all here, deeply embedded in my brain."
"But all that mayhem was before you were born," the caregiver responded patiently.
"Ah! But it's the fact that I'm old enough to have known somebody who witnessed the Zeppelins arriving over London - dropping bombs from baskets - and who helped the war effort by making countless tins of plum jam for the soldiers on the front line.
"Plus, I still recall General Kitchener's photo on my grandmother's kitchen wall.
"These recollections leave me feeling uncomfortably close to events that happened a century ago," I mournfully concluded.
"Were you ever in a war, Dad?" asked my 8-year old.
"Yes, the one that started on September 3, 1939."
"Do you recall that particular day?" asked the caregiver curiously.
"Indeed, I remember the whole family listening to Neville Chamberlain's announcement at 11am on the BBC, declaring that a state of war now existed between Great Britain and Germany.
"After the broadcast, we all sat down for a Sunday roast and I recollect my Grandmother saying, 'Well, I'll be making plum jam again for the troops."'
"Gee Dad, I've worked it out, you'll be 107 when that 100-year anniversary rolls around!" exclaimed my child with a broad grin.
"Thanks for reminding me," I replied, reaching for a post-breakfast glass of bubbles to cheer myself up.
