10/09/2026
I have to tell you about Tucker. It was a year or two ago now, but I wrote down the details at the time, and for one reason or another, I don’t think I got around to posting it on here. It’s not my intent to embarrass Tucker, since he was only nine years old at the time, but he set a good example for other kids in the room, and I wanted to recognize him for it.
When I arrived at the World of Energy in Seneca that day, Tucker was already waiting for me. I mean, first in line. I always try to arrive early, so I can get set up in relative peace and clear my head before a program. In this case, I was forty minutes early.
Tucker and his grandmother were already there. One of the Duke employees quietly let me know that the young man was quite the reptile enthusiast, and had been looking forward to the event for weeks.
We set up in the small auditorium they have, which has a small stage with about a six-inch lift to it. The audience seating is a mere five or six feet from the lip of the stage. The room was quite warm, so a fan was brought out and aimed toward the performance area.
As is my custom, about 10 minutes before show time, I went out into the lobby with Mr. Beasley, my bearded dragon, and greeted audience members as they were allowed entrance into the auditorium. Once the auditorium was nearly filled, and the trickle of guests had stopped, I headed down to the front of the venue to welcome the crowd and to thank Duke Energy for sponsoring the event.
Latecomers would have difficulty getting a good seat. The first several rows were filled. Tucker was in the center of the front row.
As I opened with my remarks, a young girl - maybe six or seven years old - walked between the stage and front row, visibly disappointed that there were no empty seats in the first few rows. She paused, and I thought perhaps she had a sibling (she didn’t) with whom she could share a seat.
Tucker stood up and motioned to the girl. “Here,” he said, “you can have my seat.”
The girl nodded her thanks and accepted, and now it was Tucker without a seat, standing between the stage and the seats.
I hadn’t formally met Tucker until this point. I knew who he was, of course, thanks to the Duke employee I had mentioned earlier.
Once I got his name, I asked, “Where do you plan on sitting, Tucker?”
“Well,” he sighed, “My grandma’s back there somewhere,” he said, as he motioned to a few vacant seats four or five rows back. “I guess I can sit near her.”
“I’ll tell you what, Tucker,” I said. “That was a very chivalrous act that you did. I know the young lady appreciates it, but I appreciate it as well.”
It was the only free-standing chair in the room. I had brought it down from the back of the auditorium so I could sit while I prepared my table. I brought it out from behind my table and placed it to the side of the stage, in front of the fan, and very near the stacked bins that held the large lizards.
“Here you go, Tucker. The best seat in the house.” Tucker beamed and took his new seat. “And Tucker? If any of those lids on those big bins start popping up, just tap them on the nose. They usually go back in without too much of a problem.”
Admittedly, I’m a bit of an opportunist. I put Tucker to work several times. He held the pillowcase while putting away a squirmy blood python. He brought bins over when I didn’t feel like walking eight feet to get them. And when he lingered around after the program, I let him hold a variety of different animals. I told him I was proud of him.
Chivalry is an almost lost art. In this modern age where so many seem to be self-centered, it was truly refreshing to see a young man be chivalrous beyond his years, putting his own wants and desires aside to be a blessing to another.
Keep it up, Tucker!
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