What's Your Favorite?

      There's a game we played sometimes in school. It's a lunch-time favorite. We called it, "What's Your Favorite?"

      It was simple, really. As we sat in a little circle around the table in my classroom, we shared our favorites. One person picked a topic and goes first. Then we all shared our favorites as we went around the table. And then the right to choose topics passes clockwise.

      Sounds way too simple, really.

      Kinda sounds a little too tame for 8 year olds.

     But it's not. Trust me. They invented it.

      Actually, a boy we'll call "A" invented it. He and his best bud, "M" always saved their vouchers to have lunch with the teacher. I gotta admit - I thought I was special when I first noticed this trend. I thought, "Wow! I must really be reaching these guys!" But then I learned that the duo was buying lunch just to play that game with whomever else bought lunch that day. I was more an add-on.

      Ego aside - it was kinda fun.

     Got any idea what topics would be favoritized? Foods? Seasons? Colors?      

What's your favorite ice cream flavor?

      Yes to almost anything else you are thinking. All of us seemed to ask the same questions of each other. (Superman ice cream was a favorite of A and M, by the way.)

     But the mind of an 8 year old goes to different topics quickly. Here is a smattering:

• video game character

• amusement park ride

• firework

• bug

• land animal

• water animal

• air animal

• food that starts with c

• super hero

      The list goes on. These are just some that I remember.

      What's really neat about this game is two-fold. First, the kids seemed so eager to share. Second, (but this really should be first....) the kids seemed so eager to listen.

     They Really  listened to each other. They even remembered all the stuff that'd been said. I know because I've been caught with my memory down and they reminded me that J loves pistachios!

      Pistachios? They can't remember that 7 x 8 = 56, but they can remember that J loves pistachios? And that D loves unicorns best but since that was disqualified by the group, she loves panda bears second best? And that G loves gooey brownies his mom bakes? And that S loves the zipper but hates ziplines? And that - wait!

     I remembered a lot more than I thought!

     A and M were on to something. They were making new friendships with kids and reinforcing ties with friends they already had. All during this silly game we played - talking with our mouths full even! (What's a little half-chomped PB&J between friends, right?)

So I gotta know... What's your favorite air animal? :)                                            

Words

I didn't know real loss until my dad died.

I didn't know how it felt. I never imagined how deep it was. I didn't know how sneaky it was, either. I mean - you think you've scabbed over and you've healed until a cheeky little memory peeks around your cerebrum, drums up a million sobs worth of emotion, and then leaks down your face.

I didn't know how truly BADLY I could miss someone.

I've discovered something, though. It's not a cure for missing someone, but it's close. Think of it more as a salve for the soul.

It's words.

All someone has to do is talk to you and tell you something they remember about your loved one. It doesn't have to be a huge life lesson. It doesn't have to be a speech. It doesn't matter if it's a funny story or a touching memory or even a seemingly boring tidbit about what your dad did with the food on his plate every supper growing up. Whatever the words - they soothe the aching heart!

It happened again just the other day. Someone I hadn't seen in decades shared a few words with me. He and his three high school buddies were out golfing just a few weeks before. He said that my dad's name came up. All of them talked about Dad for a while. How they learned how to golf from him. How they loved him as a coach and a principal. And how they loved playing ping pong with him, too.

Ping pong?

My dad - golf coach and ping pong player.

My soul soared!

Later I replayed all of his kind words a few times in my head. It was joyous! Just thinking that someone else had been thinking and talking about my dad. . . . The idea that he meant something to someone else. . . . That my father was still remembered and missed. . . .

His words didn't cost anything.

But what a gift!

Too many of me

I'm Kris. I'd like to tell you that I'm one in a million, but I'm not. In fact - I'm one in a bajillion. Maybe I should say that I'm one of a bajilion.

We Kris are many. We are legion.

Back in my day, we Kris-ers were all over the place. There were three of us in my class when I was in elementary school. Three. And that's out of a class of fewer than 40 students!

It was tough!

I really shouldn't complain too much about growing up Kris. 'Cuz I really didn't grow up Kris. I grew up with a nickname. All through grade school, high school, and even into my college days I answered to two letters my sister christened me with.

(Or should I say Kristened?)

That nickname kept me out of the roll call chaos the other two Chris-ers suffered through daily.

When I graduated college, I went back to Kris. It felt right. Anyone who didn't know me when I was little calls me Kris. (Good lord - don't call me Kristy. It's just not a good fit!) And anyone who knew me when I was little still calls me by my nickname. In fact, it sounds odd when folks who should call me by my nickname call me Kris. And when people who should call me Kris call me by my nickname - it's even odder and creepily over-familiar sounding.

But I still have the problem now and again of being one of a bajillion. And if you add the male contingent - I'm one of a crap ton!

And one of those imposter-me's took my pizza at Blaze!

I'm sure it was accidental. We Kris-ers aren't dishonest unless playing board games with children! But it happened nonetheless.

So from now on, call me Mabel.

Now if I can just get them to spell my name right!