It’s a cool Saturday morning. The sky is clear blue like a Caribbean Ocean blue I’ve only seen once in my life. But I’m not anywhere near the ocean. I’m standing in the middle of a sports field so green it makes your eyes think they’re hallucinating.

It’s early September and there’s a hint of fall around the corner.

The air echoes with the sound of children’s voices. I find that incredibly soothing to my old bones. There’s something about watching children play games. The carefree spirit of unadorned fun is contagious. The game is kickball, and I am reminded of fourth grade.

My fourth-grade year at Hampton Elementary stands out because it was different. I don’t know why, but about 50 of us were bussed across town to the basement of First Baptist Church that year. I guess our little school building was experiencing growing pains. There was no room for us at the old building while construction was underway on the new wing.

They could have moved other classes, I suppose. But we were the chosen ones. The basement at FBC was large enough to be divided into two classrooms by a folding accordion door. Miss Stell on one side and Miss Orr on the other side. Familiar school desks and chairs in neat rows. We learned Georgia history and our multiplication tables that year.

And we played kickball at recess.

We didn’t have access to the schoolyard playground. Monkey bars. Huge swing sets. The merry-go-round of death. So, our teachers improvised with kickball. This was perhaps the first organized sport of my life. We chose teams, captains carefully selected by our teachers so that everyone got a chance to play.

Kickball teaches a kid to be tough. That rubber ball could peel your skin off if you got plastered in the face trying to make it home. We threw hard and there was no holding back. No one wanted recess to be over but, eventually, we had to go back inside to more flash cards of 4×8 and 12×5.

Today’s game is not like that. The kids here today range from elementary age to almost adult age. Because they are all special needs kids, they know what it’s like to not be chosen to play. Which is why today we play for them, and everyone gets into the game. Smiles and shouts abound.

There are no rules, really. Each kid has a buddy on the field to make sure they have fun. They kick and run the bases, and nobody gets out. Every runner scores and I give high fives to everyone who passes third base.

But the game is not the real story I want to tell.

I brought Max with me today. It was kind of an afterthought, but as it turns out, he was almost a bigger hit than kickball. Max knows no strangers and the kids took to him like bees take to honey.

Raylan especially loved Max.

While I did my buddy duties out on the field, Marion was keeping watch with Max on his leash. She sat in the grass in the shade of a Birch with him for part of the morning. He backed up close under the spell of back scratches and practically sat his 55 lbs. in her lap. Plus, he knows she has Milk Bones for treats.

At one point I turned and saw that Marion was visiting with some of the other adults who came to watch the games, and Max was nowhere to be seen. I looked over the field and finally spotted him. Raylan had the leash. She had forgotten about kickball and was wandering free with her new pal.

Raylan is maybe 10, I’m not sure. She has a head full of brown hair and eyes that reflect the immeasurable joy of a child. She has a shy smile and often turns away in a sheepish grin when I approach her. She is what the experts would call “high functioning.” Smart as a whip but in her own world. If I wave to her on Sunday mornings, she grins and flaps her arms at me and disappears like a butterfly riding the wind.

Today, Max has stolen her heart.

The sun is finally warm. The kids are sweating and thirsty. We take a break, and everyone goes down to the pavilion for lemonade and snacks. Rice Krispie Crunches. Mini muffins. Calorie laden foods carefully selected for fun. No child reads the label before consuming ridiculous quantities of energy.

Raylan brings Max into the crowd. She is like his new handler. Kids and adults scamper for a chance to fluff his ears and rub his backbone.

“His name is Max,” Raylan tells everyone.

“Hey Max” is repeated a thousand times.

Love and hugs are coming from every direction. Max is quickly becoming the official mascot of kickball. He meets everyone with a tail wag and his quiet manner. A little grey around the snout. Most importantly, he meets with parental approval.

Raylan’s parents finally get her to take a cup of lemonade and rehydrate. She takes a snack but she’s not letting go of the leash. Max is permanently attached to her side.

When the games resume, Max and Raylan are inseparable.

The morning comes to a close. Kids and shoes and bags are being gathered up for the ride home. I knelt beside Raylan and told her Max had to go home, too. She clutched his neck and looked away.

Her dad tried to persuade her. “It’s time to go. You’ve got to give Mr. Paul the leash. Max has to go to his home.”

That’s when the tears came. Her dad picked her up and she sobbed into his shoulder.

I had no idea that a dog could be loved so quickly. Max is not necessarily an affectionate dog, but he is loveable. He made an impression today. As I walked him back toward my truck everybody, and I mean everybody, adults included, said “Bye Max” like they were long lost friends.

Yesterday at church I saw Raylan from across the room. I was busy and couldn’t go see her at the moment, but she waved with both arms like she hadn’t seen me in forever. She had never done that before.

When I got free, I went over and sat in a chair behind her. She didn’t see me. She was just standing beside her mom. I reached out and tapped her on the shoulder, expecting the usual response, which was for her to grin at me and run for the hills.

She fooled me.

She spun around and gave me that huge smile. More than that, she ran and jumped into my lap and threw her arms around my neck and squeezed tight. I’m a grandpa, so I know what that means.

“Max said to tell you, Hi,” I told her. More hugs. Then, like a butterfly, she was gone.

Max did something for Raylan I haven’t been able to do alone.

He found the love inside a child.

And now Max is not the only one with a new best friend.