My dear Nick is an elderly widow who frequents the facility I direct.
A former Catholic who was raised in Chicago, he became a born-again believer in Jesus after reading the Bible.
“I was told not to read it as a teen by the priests and nuns at my parochial school,” he told me.
“I was such a rebel I did it anyway.”
I love Nick now.
But when we first met, he was crotchety and somewhat infirm, always using a cane.
He was in a perennial bad mood and also liked to argue with the teacher of the class he attends, which created lots of difficulties for me.
Then one day he stayed later than usual and walked me to my car.
Daylight Savings Time was finally over and it was pitch black at 5 p.m. It’s fair to say he was very irate that the town had not fixed the outdoor lighting.
Dear Nick became very protective of me and I’m grateful.
He usually comes by two days a week now. He tells me stories about his life, his late wife, and sticks around to walk me out.
It’s a good thing.
He might be my favorite actually. I’m definitely the most comfortable around him of anyone I’ve met so far on the new job, except perhaps my co-op student Destiny.