King Of Sticks
Benji is seven, gap-toothed, and has the energy of a birthday sparkler. He sits so close to the camera that when he smiles, his rosy face fills up my entire monitor, two small adult teeth just starting to push through.
“Great… and not so great,” he declares with a dramatic flair, when I ask how his day was.
“Why?”
“It was great because I found a big stick. And not so great because I lost it.”
I laugh — not at him, but at the surprise of it. He lives on the edge of an urban forest. There’s no shortage of twigs and branches.
“What was so special about it?” I ask, imagining a hand-crafted hiking pole or magic wand.
“It was very long!” he swings his arms wide. “We were playing Kings. The king with the biggest stick has the most power. I had the biggest one!” Then, just as loud but with theatrical outrage: “And some big kid stole it!”
I feel that — who hasn’t lost their stick?
Then he remembers: it’s his turn to ask me something. We’re in a speech arts class.
“What was the best part of your day?”
Oof. I scan it. Nothing. I screw up my face, searching.
No writing. No walk. No rest.
Just cold tea and a text that says “I understand.”
No stick to lose.
I pause — wondering if it’s weird to say out loud.
“Honestly? Teaching you.”
He grins. That goofy, toothless face fills the screen again.
And that’s what made it true.
