Chatting with a coworker this morning, I had one of the strangest experiences of my life. Yes, of my life! We were discussing the busy examination schedule that day and he mentioned that he had been tapped to step in and give the tester a break now and again, and “wouldn’t you know it, I didn’t bring a book with me today.”

I facetiously offered him my copy of the Teddy Roosevelt biography I’m reading, expecting the usually momentary silence, followed by the usual polite thanks and tactful refusal I get whenever I recommend the latest really great book about dead people that I’m currently immersed in. To my stunned surprise he not only said thanks, he said in a perfect deadpan that it was his ambition to read a good biography of every one of the U.S. presidents.

Then it was my turn to respond with silence. When I found my voice again all I could think to say was, “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

But no, he was completely sincere, and we had an incredible conversation about our favorite authors and the earliest presidents and who was the most awesome founding father. He was sure it was Alexander Hamilton, and recommended the biography by Ron Chernow, which I think I have stashed away somewhere, still unread. I stuck up for David McCullough, and recommended 1776, his terrifically lucid account of the very iffy landmark year of the American revolution.

I’m absolutely gobsmacked at having finally met another history nerd, after so many years of wondering where all the people were who read the kooky kind of books I do. They live! And now I’ve seen on in nature. Amazing.