For over twenty years, we’ve had a pretty steady tradition of having breakfast as a family after Sunday Mass. One of the staples of that tradition has been Le Peep in Castleton, an area on the northeast corner of Indianapolis. Our kids grew up on “The Eighteen Wheeler” and “Funny Face Pancakes” as well as with a host of friendly characters we’ve gotten to know in many years of going to the same place. Who says that Cheers is the only place where everybody knows your name?

Interestingly enough, next month we celebrate 20 years in our current home. This is a milestone for our married life and for my entire life. A fun dynamic of such longevity in one place has been the chance to expand some of our children’s traditions to include our grandchildren. We still do Sunday breakfast, and it still ends up at Le Peep most of the time.

Picking up Cooper recently to spend a day together, we found ourselves talking about plans for the day. He wanted to go to Le Peep for breakfast after daily Mass, and I told him that we’d need to do something different because we were going to be at the office for a little while that morning. We settled on Lincoln Square Pancake House as a reasonable alternative and I asked him what he wanted for breakfast. “I think I want pancakes,” he replied. “Great! Will you be able to look at the server and order it for yourself?” I responded. “Ok Poppy,” he said. “That’s why I like to go to Le Peep. With Travis, it’s easy to speak for myself.”

Ahh, Travis. Of course. I’m not certain if Travis has been at Le Peep for the entire time we’ve been going, but it’s close. Cooper doesn’t know a world without Travis in it. You know Travis, he’s the guy who has your table set before you arrive (including perfectly timed macchiato’s for your girls delivered as they’re sitting down), taps you on the shoulder at a Dave Matthews concert to say “Hi” because you happen to have seats next to one another, holds the back room for you even though they don’t accept reservations, and knows what you want to order even if you happen to fancy something different on a particular day.

We all love great service, appreciate places where it’s comfortable and familiar, and love those individuals who help make the things we do great experiences. But how many people do we know who make it easy to speak for ourselves? It wasn’t something I had every considered.

Last week, I attended a conference at which a grandmotherly figure complimented me on my “firm handshake.” “Why, thank you,” I replied, smiling. These are the things we like to teach our children and grandchildren. Stand straight, say “please” and “thank you,”look the person in the eye when you shake his/her hand, smile. When we’re young, transitioning from mom and dad speaking on our behalf to owning it ourselves is a big move. Oh, the pressure of talking to an adult! These are dangerous waters and all children must pass through them on their way to adulthood. Many struggle.

Speaking for ourselves has many risks. The risk of a mistake. The risk of going blank. The risk of weird eye contact. The risk of being asked a question to which you don’t know the answer. All pointing to the ultimate risk: the risk of being made to look or sound foolish. Kids get this intuitively, knowing the stakes are high. As adults, we often mask or avoid it in different ways.

How is it one can make it easy for another to speak for him or herself? Put another way, how do we make it safe to speak up? With Travis, familiarity is a big part of it. He is a known quantity. However, all of us have known quantities in our lives who have the exact opposite effect. Jokesters. Sarcasm. Cynical humor. Trick questions. They all feel like traps – efforts to put the other in an awkward or humorous situation…normally at their expense. Positive familiarity is absolutely necessary. For a child, or anyone, to speak for himself, there must be trust.

Thinking of Travis, the playbook is pretty straightforward. He greets warmly, asks sincerely, listens intently, smiles knowingly, and genuinely seems to care. He’s not overdone or sappy with sycophantic servitude – there is no hint of “being managed” in interactions with him. He’s steady; busy or slow, good day or bad…you can’t tell. His tone is consistent, his expressions convey sincere interest, and he seems to like the work he does, even on the days when I’m sure it’s not easy. He’s not “put-on,” you can’t fake it over 15-20 years. It is who he is and it just shines through. He’s likable, in all the right ways. With Travis, it’s easy for all of us to speak for ourselves.

Thinking of recent interactions with children, I wonder if I made it easy for them to speak for themselves? Did I play with with their awkwardness or create an open channel for connection? What about the adults I encounter? Do I add risk or take it away when speaking to others?

I think Travis has a super-power. To empower others with the gift of making it easy for them to speak for themselves is laudable. To have a seven year old describe you thus is high praise. Think about a Travis in your life, how might you encourage the stewardship of this gift? Thinking about seeing Travis today, I’m going to make a point to encourage him and then work to emulate his great example in my own life.