Nickolas

Late last Spring, Elaine and I went to a cookout with some folks from church. It was a small group, and we were staked out near a playground where several children who were not affiliated with our group were playing. While I was preparing dessert, the following actual conversation occurred.

Young Boy – I need a S’more
Travis – I can’t give you a S’more, there are a bunch of kids around here, and I don’t have enough for everybody
Young Boy – But I NEED a S’more
Travis – Kid, I don’t KNOW you
Young Boy – I’m Nickolas
Travis – Well, Nickolas, I’m not going to give you a S’more. It looks like you just ate; you’re wearing your dinner on your shirt (his shirt was covered with ambiguous food stains).
Nickolas – That’s not my dinner, it’s my mess
Travis – Well, you can’t have S’more unless you ask your mom
Older Boy playing on playground – Mom lets him have anything he wants
Travis – I don’t care. Nickolas, if you want a S’more, you have to go ask your mom.

(Nickolas runs off, then returns)

Nickolas – She said I could have one
Travis – Okay (reluctantly gives Nickolas a S’more which he happily devours).

I totally understand if this text doesn’t leap off the page, but it is one of the most memorable conversations I’ve ever had. Elaine and I happily recount it regularly.

The kid was just so optimistic and so-good natured. The way he said, “I’m Nickolas,” as if I had been hearing about him for quite some time, or should have already known, as if a name encapsulated everything you need to know about someone.

I can’t help but worry that this kid has a lot of pain coming his way. Trusting strangers, wearing your heart on your sleeve, and appealing to people’s better angels is a recipe for disaster.

On the other hand, it’s pretty motivating. I want to live in Nickolas’s world – everybody’s a friend; tell people what you want; ignore snide remarks; expect the best.