“I’m your favorite,” grandson Nicky told me. I stumbled a little before telling him that he was right. He is my favorite. So are his siblings and my family up north. They are all my favorite people.

I had called to wish him a happy birthday. He responded that he wasn’t 11 years old until after eight o'clock, the time he had been born. I told him that it was later than that time here. He verified the time by checking with his mom. I don’t think he had any idea that time zones existed.

I asked about his baseball games. He is a catcher. I told him that I couldn’t play baseball. He immediately said that I could, too, I just had to try. I let it drop.

He doesn’t realize that I could try my best and practice until the cows come home and I still couldn’t catch, throw, run or hit a ball with the swing of a bat.

The only team that would welcome me would be Charlie Brown’s baseball team featured in the comic strip, “Peanuts.”

Saturday I received a box in the mail from my daughter. It was my Mother’s Day present. There was a recyclable grocery bag, some hand cream, a couple of small embroidery projects and a couple of great Mother’s Day cards.

The best thing of all was a handful of pictures. There are photos of grandson, Jacob, on his way to a band concert. There are pictures of granddaughter, Emma, holding two white chickens upside down by their feet. She is wearing her FFA jacket with her name embroidered on it.

I am surprised that she has embraced the FFA because she has never lived on a farm. The closest she has come to farm life is the house where she lives now. The chickens in the backyard and the occasional horse are the closest she has come to being responsible for livestock. Oh, I also learned that a couple of ducks have moved in. They look like male mallards. I don’t know how long they will last.

There is also a print of Emma and her boyfriend. He is a good looking boy but how could she be old enough to have a boyfriend?

There are pictures of Jacob giving Nicky a boost as he climbs a tree. There are pictures of the boys holding the fish they had just caught. There were two or three photos of the boys letting a praying mantis crawl on their faces. I know praying mantises are the good guys of the garden. I know that the big bugs are mostly harmless. Still, it gives me the willies to see them posing on their faces.

A day or so later I was talking with my daughter. I didn’t realize she was driving at the time, or that Nicky was in the backseat. She was almost to where she was going. As we were saying our goodbyes, I heard a voice say. ”I’m your favorite.”

I smiled and answered that he was indeed my favorite. I am glad that he has that kind of self esteem. He also tells his mom that he is her favorite.

Being someone’s favorite is a good thing. It means that you will always have someone’s back and they will have yours. I hope that you, reader, are someone’s favorite.