I have no ambitions to become a restaurant critic. But I do feel the need to share something weirdly wonderful about the last two meals I’ve had at Geaghan’s Pub in Bangor. In the interest of full disclosure, the “wonderful” includes excellent food, beer, and fantastic service. The weirdness is also wonderful, but it’s also rare, unfortunately. It appears every time I eat there, something wonderful happens. A few months ago, I met a new young lady (nine years old) at the pub who showed me how to create hope and happiness by drawing a picture for the guy (me) sitting at a table near her. She doesn’t know it, but she  inspired the title of a book I’ve been working on. I learned how to . Last night, things were busy as usual. When my waitress stopped to collect my drink order, she leaned in and said, “See that nice you couple getting ready to leave? They gave me a ten-dollar bill to put towards your dinner.” I should also add that I do not think I looked particularly destitute or needy. I was stunned. The waitress’s smile looked even bigger than usual. Remembering my previous experience. I replied, “Why is it that every time I come here, something nice happens to me?” The management of Geaghan’s can be proud of Jolene’s reply. “You’re in an Irish Pub. Nice people come here.” To her credit, she seemed not the least bit surprised by this act of kindness–there was nothing weird about it. The couple stopped at my table briefly as they left–not to explain, but to wish me a good meal and a nice evening. I thanked them profusely for their generosity. During my meal, I continued to think about how strange these experiences were. I found myself wondering what would happen the next time I ate there—and already planning my next visit. A hand-drawn picture and a ten-dollar bill created countless winners far beyond the givers and receiver. The “weirdness” might not be in the events themselves. What might be strange is the fact I was surprised by them. Jolene later also encouraged me to order dessert, reminding me that she still had that ten-dollar bill in her hip pocket to put towards my check. Unfortunately, I had to pass—the shepherd’s pie had done the job. My stomach was full. But so was my heart and head. I laid my credit card on the table for the check. Jolene started to explain how she was going to process the check as part cash and part credit. As she reached into her hip pocket, I said, “Wait! You might as well leave it there.” She looked a little confused, so I added, “That’s going to be your tip.” Some people I’ve told the story say, “You paid it forward.” I confess I do not fully “get” that concept. Maybe that is because I find words interesting. If you pay for the coffee of the person behind you in the drive-through, wouldn’t you be paying it backward? What I do “get” is what the nine-year-old did. Even if you don’t have any crayons, you can put color into another person’s life and your own. And if you do have some crayons (or ten dollars to spare), sharing them with someone just because you want to is not so strange or weird. It can be—should be—a way of life. We can make it so.