A news release that crossed my desk the other day heralded the fact that May will once again be designated as Senior Citizens' Month in New York State.

Now, normally, I consider the designation of one month or another for a particular group to be, well, frankly, a bit much. But I must admit, Senior Citizens' month touches a sentimental chord within me and reminds me of my grandfathers, gone now 30 years and 18 years, respectively.

See, as a child, I was blessed to get to know my grandmothers pretty well, but my maternal grandfather passed away when I was but five, and my paternal grandfather, shortly after I graduated high school ¬ both before I ever had the good sense to sit down and really talk to them.

Oh, the stories and family history I missed out on. You see, my maternal grandfather worked as a conductor on one of those old southern railroads that long ago disappeared into the mist of history. It was, no doubt, a romantic life, and one through which I'm sure he picked up tale after tale to re-tell. I just never got the chance to ask him to do so.

My paternal grandfather, living here in New York, was a much greater presence in my life, and yet I only once asked him to verify a story for me, when I was in the seventh grade.

Now, my paternal grandfather, he had also led something of a romantic life, though you probably would never have been able to tell it seeing him puff quietly on his pipe and contemplate his later years.

Supposedly, while growing up in New York City, he enjoyed a fairly tight friendship with another neighborhood youth, one James Cagney (yes, that James Cagney), and one family story has them buying a car together.

Later this grandfather worked on the assembly line of the Studebaker Car Company and, during World War II, on the Port of New York, helping to refurbish ships bruised in battle.

All through these years, he also kept company with many of the most interesting characters in New York, from gangsters ¬ Dutch Schultz's is a name I heard mentioned often in my youth ¬ to New York City Mayor Jimmy Walker.

And yet while I had a passing knowledge of all these stories, I never asked him about them. I don't know why. I guess you always figure you have a little more time.

What makes this lack of initiative even more disappointing is that on one occasion, I did venture a question about another long-told family story.

According to several accounts, somewhere in my past, there's a relative who was an American Indian. (I know, I know, many families have these tales.) Now, in the seventh grade in the Plainedge School District, our social studies class was devoted to the history of New York State. For an entire year, we talked agriculture and social history, and not, incidentally, New York's native Indian tribes.

Finally, armed with a little bit of knowledge, I decided to investigate an old family claim. "Grandpa, was there really an Indian in our family?" I asked one day as he sat puffing on his pipe in our backyard.

"Yes," he said, without elaborating too much. "She was an Iroquois."

With that, my attention was riveted ¬ he actually named not just a tribe, but also a tribe that was indigenous to this state.

Now, I really don't know if that story is indeed true. But I accept it more than I would have if I didn't ask.

So, this is why I think Senior Citizens' Month is somewhat different from hangnail month and all the other months different organizations have seen fit to have recognized on our calendars. Maybe, just maybe, some young person will feel inspired ( there are, after all, 31 days during which this can happen), and ask the senior in their life about days long past and memories that would be nice to carry over to another generation and perhaps several more.

I know if I had the opportunity today, I would certainly take advantage of it.