In the car this morning, Riley talks about an adult he works with in school.

He knows much about her because he listens and asks questions. And she’s not the only one.

There’s the lady who allowed Riley to work with her serving lunches during the summer.

He knows the custodians by name in at least three different schools, their hopes and dreams and what they had for dinner last night.

Riley is such a name dropper, this kid. Everywhere we go, he sees somebody else and says hello. I’m wondering if he can get tickets for me through his connections. Or at least a deal on some cleaners.

As I watch him, I think of somebody who’s not content to be a teen, somebody who wants to hang out with the more mature crowd. We’re talking about people with 401ks. Go play with somebody your own size, I think to myself. Hit a ball around. Talk about computers or cars.

But that’s not him. And suddenly I don’t care that some of his friends have mortgages and high blood pressure. Growing up, I had adults in my life that helped shape and mold who I am today.

I’m talking about Joe, a stocky short man with a blond beard. I don’t remember much about him except that he let me come to his house often and I remember how good it felt. Without a doubt, I knew he and his wife loved me.

Don took me on campouts, Mrs. Z let me put an ice cube in my soup to cool it down and I remember those church lessons from Mrs. Blankenship.

And then I think about the Rileys in my life, like the kid I saw in Taco Bell the other day.

I see him and his family standing back deciding what to order. He looks familiar but I don’t want to guess wrong so I proceed to order. Suddenly he jumps up to the counter right beside me. Our shoulders are almost touching and he has a big smile.

I give this young teen a playful nudge and start talking to him. He looks ahead, not making eye contact. But I can tell the banter makes him happy, maybe even a little bit important.

Nobody’s going to give me a plaque or include me in their Oscar acceptance speech for those few minutes in line. I may never see the results right away.

But chances are, those small acts might impact him and others like him more than I realize.

I don’t have to look any further than my own son to realize how true that is.