Nicky: My Spirit Child

Nicky is more than just a grandson; he is a child blessed with wisdom well beyond his years. I often call him my spirit child, a title he’s earned through his gentle insight and grounded perspective on the world around him.

Nicky has two teenage brothers. There are moments, like today, when their actions frustrate him. “Why, Nicky?” I ask. “Because they told on me after I’d asked them not to mention something to Mum”.

Yet, when I ask Nicky, “Who do you love most in the world?” his answer is heartfelt and unwavering: “My brothers, of course.”

Not Mum, not Dad, but his brothers. He trusts that they’d do anything for him and protect him from harm.

We’re spending three weeks visiting our son and his family over the holidays.

Nan and Grampy often joke, “We can never get you all to sit down together for a proper chat.”

The teenagers, Josh and Liam, are always coming and going: “Hi Nan, bye Nan, I’m off to footie,” or “Got to get to the beach, the surf’s up!”

Meanwhile, Nicky finds his own rhythm, gaming with a mate on his iPad, darting about playing hide-and-seek with the dog.

As the time slips away, I remind them tearfully, “We won’t see you all for another year, if we’re still here.” That gets their attention and, for once, everyone pauses.

Good trick, Nanny.

“We’re free for lunch tomorrow,” I announce. “It’s a date,” Grampy agrees.

Josh, proudly sporting his L plates and only two days’ driving experience, is nominated as our chauffeur. “Where shall we go, boys?”

“Burgers!” says Josh.

Liam protests, “You work at a burger joint, why do you want burgers?”

Nicky, ever the old soul, chimes in, “Because it’s his favourite food.”

That settles it.

After parking carefully between the white lines and with no cars nearby, as Nicky sagely recommends, we head into a restaurant called “It’s Friday.”

Grampy, a bit befuddled, asks, “But it’s not Friday? Is it open?” Nicky explains patiently, “It’s Friday every day at Its Friday, Gramps. It’s clever marketing. They do great business!”

Josh orders the special stacked burger, Liam chooses chicken, and Nicky inquires about the pasta specials, always mindful of the prices. “Grampy doesn’t need to pay a fortune just to talk to us,” he declares.

The meal is less about the food and more about the conversation, hopes and dreams, school progress, Josh heading to uni, and future careers. Girlfriends remain a mystery, but Nicky promises to fill us in later.

They think we’re old, no, ancient, but I treasure these moments.

Julie, his mum, and I fall into a deep conversation. Nicky, taught to be polite and not interrupt, hovers nearby. Suddenly, he holds up a notice on a stick, fingers pointed at us: “Kindly pause.” We stop mid-sentence, amused.

“Thank you,” he says, “I have a negotiation deal to discuss.” One of his many deals, each backed by plausible reasoning. Perhaps a future lawyer in the making?

Later, Grampy and Nicky sit together on the sofa. Nicky is engrossed in his game, in his corner. His designated spot on the couch is non-negotiable territory, fiercely defended against all except Shiloh, the little cavoodle who’s earned joint tenancy.

Grampy watches the footie, grumbling about technology and the remote. Nicky prefers championship badminton and table tennis, leaving rough-and-tumble sports to others.

Between plays, Grampy chats to Nicky, mostly harmless nonsense. Struck by Grampy’s struggles with technology, Nicky asks, “Gramps, are you autistic?”

Grampy is startled.

Nicky explains, “When I was born, it was traumatic. Mum nearly died, I nearly died. It took me two years to learn to walk, and I had speech therapy at school.

They asked if I was autistic.

So, don’t worry if people say you forget things or can’t do some things. You’re not autistic. Maybe you need a bit of help, like me.”

Grampy, eyes glistening with tears, says, “Goal.”

As the day winds down, Nicky hugs me and says, “You won’t die, Nan, ever. You need to look after Grampy and help him.” He’s noticed I sometimes lose patience with Gramps.

“He needs you,” Nicky reminds me with gentle wisdom. “See you next year!”

That’s the magic of Nicky. His wisdom isn’t loud or showy; it’s steady and genuine. He binds us together, reminds us to laugh, and shows us how to love each other a little better.

Nicky, 10 years old, my old soul, my love, continues to teach me about empathy, hope, and the importance of family.

In his company, I am reminded of the joy in simple moments and the depth of wisdom found in the heart of a child.

And as we look back on this holiday, it’s clear: the youngest among us is sometimes the wisest of all.

Here is my wish for 2026, inspired by Annelise Lords’ Reflections on Kindness and the New Year, a writer I admire on this platform:

A Kinder World

In a world where hearts grow weary as another year draws near,

Let’s try something different, simple, and straightforward:

Not chasing resolutions too high to seize,

But tending to kindness, with patience and ease.

Let January’s promise be gentle and true,

Not just to strive, but to grow and renew.

For better people make a better place,

With kindness and love shining from every face.

May cruelty be humbled, and hatred undone,

By hands that uplift, and hard hearts gently won.

May unity and peace be our tools each day,

And judgment and anger be cast away.

Let children dream and find their way,

With care unmeasured, come what may.

Let happiness and hope belong to all,

No matter their fortune, no matter how small.

And if you ask what I wish for as this year is done:

Kindness, acceptance, a world where all are as one.

A better world is built on hearts that forgive,

On people who love, and let live.

So here’s to 2026, let’s keep it bright,

With compassion and courage, and doing what’s right.

It’s not asking much, just a simple request:

Be kind, be gentle, and try your best.

© Stephanie Roberts🕉️♥

Thank you for reading, dear friends ღ.

Be Kind. My religion is Kindness ~ Dalai Lama