In the elevator at the grocery store, I shared the ride with a family of three. The daughter, holding a pink lunch box was no higher than my waist. She quietly announced, “I’m six.”
“Me too, ” I said, ” I grew really fast.”
She glanced at her mom. The elevator door opened, and by chance, we were parked next to each other.
“If I’m six, am I allowed to drive?”
“Yes, because you’re big,” she answered.
“Then, you can drive too, because your six.”
“No, I’m little.”
“No, you’re not you’re big and strong,” I said. “You know why?” She shook her head, and her mom and dad paused as they were packing their groceries into the car. “Because in the elevator you started to talk to me, and that means you’re confident and strong, and big.” I could tell by her expression that she liked that. Her parents did too. Then, the girl told me she was going to the beach. That must be why she had her lunch box.
Daniel Beer 