“That pizza smells good,“ my four-year-old nephew Banks said, his blue eyes sparkling. We were sitting on the back porch of the cottage where our family (16 of us in all) was staying for a week of fun in White Lake, NC. Banks and I were working on a craft project while others were splashing in the lake or working in the kitchen. I had the terribly burdensome task of amusing the youngest, and cutest, of our ranks.
“It does smell good, Banks. I love pizza,” I told him.
“Is pizza your favorite thing?” he asked me, not looking at me, still focused on his task.
“No, pizza’s not nearly my favorite thing. “
“Well what is, then? “ Banks looked up at me then, his head tilted to one side as he waited for my answer.
“One of my favorite things,“ I said, meeting his gaze, “Is playing with my nephew.“
Banks nodded without changing his expression, and went back to work. In a few minutes he questioned me again.
“Nephew. Is that somebody that you love?” Banks, not knowing the meaning of the word, “nephew,“ had figured it out for himself.
“That’s right, buddy, a nephew is somebody that you love.“
(Originally published August 15, 2008; Banks’ birthday is October 7.)