Last Sunday, I took my nephew to our church’s pool party. And we enjoyed ourselves, him playing in the water, me relaxing on the side. When his big eyes landed on me each time he surfaced, I cheered for his underwater flips and clapped for his belly flops. When he finally admitted he might be hungry, I unwrapped his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and found him chips and a grape soda. And when he returned to the water, I again went wild over graceful somersaults and undignified leaps.
Then it was time to leave.
In hopes of earning at least one more smile, I asked, “Do you want some ice cream?”
“From where?” his little voice drifted to me from the back seat of the truck.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. McDonald’s?”
A pause followed then, “Can we get something else at McDonald’s?”
“What else would we get at McDonald’s?” I questioned, distracted by pulling into traffic.
“Sure, I’ll get you fries instead of ice cream. If that’s what you want.”
And he thought he had me then –– hook, line, and sinker. “And chicken?”
And I enjoy every minute of it.