Kostia

It's interesting the first thing that pops in your head during intense or dramatic moments. I'm one of those guys that's a little hyper kinetic. This is a really cool way of saying I think too much, which is obvious because for me thinking leads to writing or talking and I do that too much as well. See what I mean? A lover of commas, and a hater of periods. I hate periods. Give me commas or just give me an ending.

That's how today was - a long run of commas. It was awesome, fantastic, uneventful (in the positive way), tender, intense, penetrating, soft, touching, kissable, slobbery, lifting, funny, and quite penetrating.

Kostia was one of the kids we had two years ago. I believe I mentioned him before, but I think I misspelled his name. Of course, his name is Russian, so you truly can’t spell it correctly in English, but you know what I mean. Kostia would be described as a challenge by his mother, and something far less polite by a teacher. Tough kid – and that’s being polite.

A met another Kostia today. Taller than the other, smiles more, and fare more engaging. He smiles and you walk towards him. Natural leader in a way that is annoying for those of us that sometimes have to work at it. I talked to this new Kostia today and realized – he’s the same kid. If you don’t know what God can do with a life, buy a ticket and head over here and I’ll introduce you to this guy. What a wonderful experience.

I was at the craft table where the boys were making t-shirts. Now this is something that they did two years ago and loved. Lots of football jerseys (Arsenal, not Cowboys kind of football) lots of bands, but Kostia made a t-shirt with a smiling character on the back. Wow. A smiling character? Kostia? I don’t think I ever saw his teeth last time and now he puts this simple face on the back of a t-shirt. This was remarkable to say the least but the next thing he did was just painful – and embarrassing. He stood up from the table and turned to me and said something. Since my Russian only includes hello, goodbye, and a few phrases that center around Coca-Cola and bathrooms, I naturally turned to the closest translator to see if Kostia's daytime sport of communicating with a single up-turned finger was back. It wasn’t.

“Do you want this?” He asked. “Do I want what?” I asked like a stunned moron. “He’s asking if you want the t-shirt?” “What t-shirt?” I repeated. As I looked at the translator, I saw her smile. Then I saw his. Then the physical, physical sensation of my heartbeat. He was holding it up, grinning like the beautifully handsome boy he is, holding it out to me. Before I could think, I snatched it out of his hand as if it was the McDonald’s French fries that keep appearing in my dreams. I clutched it, looked at it, and then just stood there dumbfounded. He smiled bigger and then indicated that he wanted me to put it on. This is when I smiled.

It was a medium. An adult medium, but still only fit for my thigh or my wife. No way I was getting into that t-shirt. I told him this, but then I said, “My son could wear it!” It’s probably longer than Zachary, but wear it he will and soon. He took it back, and before I could say anything he had laid it out and began adding to it. A sun on the front of the shirt appeared. It was smiling too.