I was meeting Otto Kudibal approximately every other week, until I was drafted into the army in September 1962. We either met at a restaurant for a lunch or dinner, or a coffee shop for coffee and pastries, or at his apartment for tea and some pastries. He told me stories from his life, which I was very interested in. I told him the story of my life, and the difficulty I had communicating with my father. My father was of a age that he could be my grandfather; he grew up in an era predating the communist society, where he held powerful positions. After my father’s 3-year jail sentence in 1948, he could not grasp or relate to the cultural changes that had happened since Communist take over. Kudibal took interest and explained to me how to understand my father, how to avoid clashes, and how to better relate to him. I looked up to Kudibal and considered him to be my very wise, understanding, and important friend.