Everyone I meet is the most interesting person in the world.
Nine year old Micky, short for Mickolas.
Micky’s dad is a professor of music and he has lived in Germany for “a while”, at least. I couldn’t even hear an accent.
He knows how to get to the games on his dad’s iPhone and, because he’s small for his age, humors the men who pass by and pat him on his head.
He had stickers of lizards on his shoes.
The first day I saw him was on a Thursday downtown. I know it was Thursday because those were my treat nights. I’d park my car in the garage, get a waffle cone full of freshly made cookie dough ice cream and watch Cary Grant movies outside when the sun went down.
He’s three and a half and doesn’t mind when his shoes are on the wrong feet. When he speaks you have to lean in to hear and even then you have to really listen to discern the words.
And Linda, whose name is engraved in a plaque in our chapel and who gets down on her hands and knees to tend to the flower gardens that are surely someone else’s problem and who finds solutions and introduces herself when you know who she is and always carries with her an aura of class and grace, even with dirt on her blouse.
If you let it be, the graffiti that inspired Justin Taylor to write a book is true: Everything here is the best thing ever.