As adults, we just don&8217;t make each other feel special enough.

Sure, your office has an employee of the month (or maybe just a parking space labeled for one that never gets used).

Your boss is a great encourager, and you get plenty of compliments.

Your friends always remember your birthday.

Your husband comes home with flowers for no reason.

And your children make you heart drawings at least once a week.

But when was the last time you were the star for the week? Try kindergarten.

Last week my buddy Andrew Cole was the star student in his kindergarten class at Vidalia Lower Elementary.

It was his week for no particular reason at all. He got to bring pictures of himself from home to put on a star-shaped board in the room, he was line leader any time the class moved from place to place and he got to invite a special friend to lunch every day of the week.

On Monday his dad came, Tuesday was mom, Wednesday was me and Thursday was two adult friends from church.

On my day I went a little early because, well, kindergarten is less stressful than my job. I was waiting in the classroom when Andrew and group returned from math lab.

There&8217;s nothing quite like the look on a young child&8217;s face when they see someone who isn&8217;t normally at their school in school. It&8217;s something along the lines of very carefully suppressed, yet nearly uncontrollable excitement.

Andrew kept things under wraps while we were in the classroom, but checked every couple of seconds to make sure I was watching every move he made.

By the time we got to the cafeteria, the star student-ness had gone to the boy&8217;s head. I was no longer an invited guest, but instead a personal slave.

He opened his lunch box, slid the microwavable Chef Boyardee meal over to me and said &8220;cook it.&8221;

It took me a few minutes to realize what I was supposed to do, spot the microwave across the room and remind myself he was a child and this was, after all, his week.

Lunchtime conversation spanned the globe from the girls in school he liked to his family&8217;s plans for the weekend.

And when it was time to go, Andrew stood, looked at his trash covering the table, looked at me and said &8220;clean it.&8221;

You&8217;ve got to give him points for trying, but this time, I made him help, star student or not.

As we rejoined the class (star students sit at a special table with their guests), classmates kept telling Andrew &8220;you&8217;re supposed to be at the front.&8221; And soon, everyone parted way so their chosen star could take his rightful spot.

When I left, Andrew&8217;s head was held high and his self-esteem was soaring. The special feeling of the week carried through to church that night, and into the weekend, I bet.

Special guests, special treatment and a special title last week probably taught Andrew intangible, un-testable lessons he&8217;ll carry with him for life.

And he&8217;ll need to, because adulthood isn&8217;t so quick to pick its stars.

Why can&8217;t we? Why don&8217;t we?

It would be easy enough in any office to dedicate a week out of each year to each of the employees.

The other employees could pitch in to take the star to lunch, or at least collect enough change in the office for a trip to the Coke machine. The star employee could get a special parking spot. He or she could lead staff meetings. Nice co-workers might even agree to wait on the person hand and foot.

Silly and unnecessary? I&8217;m probably the one who would think so. And maybe we all would to a degree, but when your week rolls around, I bet it&8217;d be pretty special.

It&8217;s a morale booster, an encourager and likely a team building exercise.

No one dislikes kindergarten. Maybe we&8217;ve found the reason why.

Julie Finley

is the managing editor of The Natchez Democrat. She can be reached at 601-445-3551 or

julie.finley@natchezdemocrat.com

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