"Big Word"

Terry had a gift. Not the kind you unwrap, but the kind that sneaks up on you and changes the whole room.

Most evenings, that gift sounded like commentary. Loud, confident, and entirely uninvited by the teams on the screen. He would sit there, shaking his head at the television, correcting professional athletes as if they might pause mid-play and take notes.

“No, no, no… you don’t run that way,” he would say, as if the outcome depended on him.

It was part of the rhythm of the house. Familiar. Steady. A little like wind moving through the trees. You stop noticing it, until suddenly it is gone.

One afternoon, it was quiet.

Not peaceful quiet. Suspicious quiet.

I remember standing there for a moment, listening, as if the silence itself might explain things. Then his voice came from the bedroom, softer than usual.

“Honey, you want to hear something nice?”

Nice? From the same man who just yesterday told a referee he needed glasses?

“Nice? Of course,” I said.

I walked in, and there he was, holding a book like he had discovered treasure. He cleared his throat, serious as could be, and began to read.

And what he read made absolutely no sense.

It was a long passage, winding and elaborate, about water. Or at least I think it was about water. Every few words, there it was again.

“Big word.”

He read it with such conviction, as if that was exactly how it had been written.

I blinked. “What?”

He kept going, steady and proud, as though delivering a speech.

When he finally handed me the book, I saw it. All those long, complicated words. Carefully replaced. Every single one.

"Big word."

That was Terry. Practical. Efficient. Not interested in showing off, and certainly not impressed by anyone who tried. If a word needed more than a few syllables to make its point, he simply did not trust it.

I started laughing. The kind that catches you off guard and refuses to let go. Tears came, the good kind that make your cheeks ache.

He just watched, satisfied. Mission accomplished.

That was his real sport.

Lately, I came across an old piece of paper. Full of those same long, winding words. I smiled before I even finished reading.

Some habits linger, like the scent of rain on warm ground.

I caught myself thinking, we could simplify this.

We could call it what it is.

Big word.

And just like that, the room felt a little less quiet.