By a combination of circumstances, somewhat my “fault”, my University of Texas roommate Robyn ended up living quite near me in Europe: she has long been in Neuchatel, Switzerland; I lived for 17 years nearby in Italy, first in Milan, later on Lake Como. So we used to exchange visits fairly regularly. We especially enjoyed going up there for the local wine festival every September. It wasn’t an internationally-famous event, but did draw visitors from outside the region.

One memorable year, we stayed late at one of the tents, sitting at long, communal tables, eating good, rustic food and drinking the more-than-decent local wine out of plastic cups. Buxom, middle-aged Swiss farm wives danced the Macarena on the tables, and a good time was being had by all.

Our daughter Rossella was around 6 or 8 at the time, very cute, charismatic, and sociable. She struck up an immediate friendship with a tall German guy wearing black motorcycle leathers and a silver tinsel wig. They didn’t have much language in common, but they laughed and chatted. We kept a close eye, but he seemed okay. After a while Ross came running back to us to show that he had given her a 5-franc coin (which would buy a fair amount of fair junk or candy).

After some time, he came over to us and tried, in halting, half-drunk English, to explain what he meant by it.

“I like kids, I have some child friends back in Germany and sometimes I give them small gifts or money.” He thought about that for a minute. “Just as friends!” he added hastily.

“I know a lot of great kids, but her…” he searched for words. “She’s just… wow!”

I have to concur — Rossella was and still is just… wow.