When my nephew Jim was still a little guy — and still found his Aunt Lara interesting (he’s 13 now) — he loved coming over for sleepovers. I was still living in Eindhoven back then.

Sleepovers meant no rules: endless TV, a fully stocked candy drawer at grabbing height, and — fixed tradition — chips for breakfast.

Also unlimited mini pancakes, trips into the city for ice cream or a movie — always by bus. Walking was too far. Driving into the city took at least half an hour and — more importantly — cost four ice creams in parking fees. And at Jimmy’s house, there was no bus. Watching his little face pressed against the window was half the fun.

Jim has just turned four when he comes to stay again.

Right before we step onto the bus, I lean down and whisper conspiratorially:

“Jim, you’re three for just a moment, okay? Then you can ride the bus for free. That way we can buy an extra big ice cream later.”

He nods. Eyes half-closed. Fully part of the conspiracy.

We board the crowded bus. I tap my card and, while telling the driver, “He’s three,” I see Jim marching toward the only empty seat.

And while he walks — like a tiny tin soldier, arms and legs swinging — he sings at the top of his lungs:

“I have to say I’m three, but actually I’m four!”

The people on the bus burst out laughing. The driver too.

Looking at my red face, he grins and says,
“Go ahead.”

Because in the end, everyone simply wants to be valued for who they truly are.

And who you are is determined by your highest values — what matters most to you in life.

For boys who have just turned four, that does not mean having to be three.
Not even for a moment.
Not even for an extra large ice cream.