Wednesdays with Emmanuel

It's become a regular Wednesday night thing.

We work on writing, we read books, and last week we wrapped up the evening playing checkers. I enjoy his company. I love his perspective on life in general, totally connect with his sense of humor and look completely forward to every minute we have together. He's got a smile that warms a room more completely than a raging fireplace ever could and laughter that could defrost the entire polar ice cap. He's hard working but never hesitant to play, and he's honest in a way most people only aspire to being. There's something about Emmanuel. To borrow from that very cheesy (and is there any other kind?) Tom Cruise movie, the guy flat had me at hello.

I know what you're thinking, so go ahead:

"Yikes! He sounds incredible! When did you meet him? He's Mr. Perfect!"

Well, calm down.

He is incredible, he is pretty perfect, and he's only four. He's Holly's oldest, and as I mentioned we've evolved these Wednesday night things where I just more or less appear and it's as natural as if I happened to get my mail there, which I don't.

Certain friendships feel like homecomings, and that's what I've been blessed with, with Holly and her family.

So back to last Wednesday, and this game of checkers. The kid is good, I'll give him that much. Very, very good. Either that or my own checker playing skills have evaporated since I last played at age twelve. He could see things on that board, potentials and opportunities, that completely eluded me.

This perhaps explained why, after about thirty minutes, he has six -- yes, a half dozen -- kings, and I had one. One king, zero subjects. In a word, I'm toast.

Game over, I'm thinking, and waited. Waited for this pint sized checker playing whiz to finish, capture my king and maybe do that little four year old celebratory "I won!" thing I've seen him launch into after a particularly good game of SORRY!

He was having none of that, moving his army of kings in every direction except where they needed to go to capture mine and win the game.

"Emmanuel," I finally pointed out, "the object of the game is to win, sweetie. So look--you want to take this king and move here -- over my king -- and you win."

"And then where do you go?"

"Well, I don't go anywhere," I explained. "I'm captured, and I'm not out there any more, and you win."

He frowned, really considering this and all its ramifications. Then, with as close to a worried look as he's ever sent in my direction, he 'captured' my king only to break it up into the two pieces it was comprised of and put both back on the board.

"Now there's more of you!" he observed, "and we keep playing..."

OK clearly, we needed to review the basics of the game.

But there was something about that laughter, as I mentioned. Something about the absolute guilelessness of that smile, and for that very perfect reason I had no problem with the reincarnation of that lone king into two players who were, eventually, captured and game over.

But not a minute before he was willing to stop playing. Because maybe, and here's another very special something I learn from Emmanuel, it's not really about winning or losing, it's about playing the game because that's what brings you happiness. And when happiness is the by-product of the game, bending a few rules and breaking apart a few kings is absolutely acceptable and even to be encouraged.

Wednesdays with Emmanuel have a way of bringing a smile to my face that's pretty hard to shake. Holly likes to say I'm 'helping' her, spending time with him and working on books, etc.

Don't believe it for a minute.

As I've observed before, Holly is pretty shrewd. She knows perfectly well who derives the most joy from those Wednesday evenings and she knows very well it's the person driving down the hill and going home when they're over.