I had come to the restaurant to write. The place was mostly empty in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. I should have gotten a lot of writing done, but Robert had other ideas.
Robert is a talker. His dad works in the kitchen of the restaurant and had been called in to finish someone else’s shift, so Robert tagged along to wait for him. He quickly struck up a conversation with me.
Robert is in the third grade and he wanted to tell me all about his life. He’s a golfer, he said, but people frequently ask him whether he’s a quarterback on a football team. He and his family have five cats and the one called Boo Bear is is favorite. (Boo Bear sleeps with him.) He’s going to be a firefighter or maybe “something easy” like a landscaper.
There was nothing extraordinary about Robert’s story, but everything about this sweet kid sparkled with life and wit and happiness. That such a thing is so ordinary is extraordinary in itself.
I’m not exactly sure whether children gravitate to me or whether I gravitate to them, but I constantly seem to end up interacting with them. In another restaurant this week, I had another “ordinary extraordinary” encounter.

Does the delusion that most people agree with us explain the appeal of majoritarian systems?
Money is a tool, and it’s useless without motivation and vision
Unless you’re suicidal, an armed march on D.C. is a very bad idea
I can’t tell truth about my father unless I dig for truth about me
Marriage is a business decision, not just matter of romantic love
She took an easy way to escape risk, but she’s left to deal with empty life
I need responsibility for slaying dragons to protect those I love