Young Author Leaves Steve Harvey Speechless After Explaining Words Most Adults Don’t Understand
Part One: The Cold Open
The morning sun poured through the kitchen windows of the Buamah family home in Bowie, Maryland.
Eight-year-old Nicholas sat at the table with a bowl of oatmeal and a dictionary.
Not a picture book.
Not a comic.
An actual dictionary.
His mother, Grace, watched him from the stove, shaking her head.
“You know,” she said, “most kids your age are watching cartoons right now.”
Nicholas looked up, his glasses catching the light.
“Cartoons are fine, Mom. But I’m learning the etymology of ‘sesquipedalian.'”
Grace blinked. “The what of what?”
“Etymology.” Nicholas smiled. “The study of the origin of words. And ‘sesquipedalian’ means given to using long words.”
“So you’re telling me there’s a word for using long words?”
“Yes. And now you know it too.”
Grace poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across from him.
She had known Nicholas was different since he was three years old.
He had taught himself to read at four.
By six, he was correcting her spelling.
Now, at eight, he had done something that still made her chest tight with pride.
He had written a book.
Hinged sentence #1: Most eight-year-olds dreamed of becoming firefighters or astronauts—Nicholas Buamah dreamed of becoming a walking dictionary.
Part Two: The Origin Story
“How did you even come up with this idea?” Grace asked, nodding toward the stack of books on the counter.
Nicholas put down his spoon.
“You started teaching me big words. Remember? One word every day.”
“I remember.”
“Then at school, I used one of the words. ‘Collaborate.’ I told my friend we should collaborate on our science project.”
Grace smiled. She remembered that day.
The teacher had sent her an email.
Mrs. Buamah, Nicholas used the word “collaborate” correctly in a sentence. Is he okay?
She had laughed for ten minutes.
“So the teacher messaged you,” Nicholas continued. “And when I got home, you asked me if I wanted to write a book. I said yes.”
He picked up a copy of his book.
“Kayla and Kyle, the Walking Dictionaries: Election Day.”
“And it’s a bestseller on Amazon,” Grace added.
“Number one in Children’s Government Books.”
“For three weeks.”
Nicholas shrugged like it was nothing.
“Also, the Library of Congress accepted it.”
Grace reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
“Your father would be so proud.”
Nicholas looked down.
His father was back in Ghana, working to build a new school.
He hadn’t seen him in eight months.
“That’s why I want to send books to Ghana,” Nicholas said quietly. “So kids there can learn big words too.”
Grace felt tears prick her eyes.
“How many books do you want to send?”
Nicholas thought for a moment.
“Five hundred and fifty-five.”
“Why that number?”
He smiled. “Because it’s odd. Like me.”
Hinged sentence #2: The number 555 wasn’t random—it was a promise Nicholas had made to himself the day his father left for Africa.
Part Three: The Call
Two weeks later, Nicholas’s life changed forever.
His phone rang—well, his mother’s phone.
“Hello?” Grace answered.
“Mrs. Buamah? This is a producer from the Steve Harvey Show.”
Grace nearly dropped the coffee cup.
“We’d like to invite Nicholas to be a guest. We heard about his book.”
Nicholas looked up from the word of the day—perspicacious, meaning having a keen mental perception.
“Mom? Your mouth is open.”
Grace closed her mouth.
“We would love to come,” she said.
Part Four: The Green Room
The day of the taping arrived faster than Nicholas expected.
Los Angeles was nothing like Maryland.
The palm trees. The heat. The endless freeways.
But the studio was the most exciting part.
Nicholas sat in the green room, wearing a blue blazer his mother had bought special for the occasion.
His book sat on the table in front of him.
“Are you nervous?” Grace asked.
Nicholas shook his head.
“I’m excited. I get to tell millions of people about words.”
“What if Steve uses a big word you don’t know?”
Nicholas grinned. “Hasn’t happened yet.”
The producer poked her head in.
“Five minutes, Nicholas.”
He stood up, smoothed his blazer, and picked up his book.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Grace watched him walk toward the stage and whispered a prayer.
God, let him be himself. That’s enough.
Hinged sentence #3: The boy who had taught himself to read at four was about to teach America something much more important—that smart was cool.
Part Five: The Interview
The studio lights were brighter than Nicholas expected.
The audience was louder too.
But when he walked out, they cheered like he was a rock star.
Steve Harvey stood in the center of the stage, looking taller than he did on television.
“Everybody, please welcome Nicholas Buamah!”
The applause was thunderous.
Nicholas walked to the chair and shook Steve’s hand.
“Hey, Nicholas. How you doing, man?”
“I’m doing great. How are you?”
“Wonderful.” Steve sat down, grinning. “I’ve never talked to an eight-year-old intellectual before, so I’m gonna have to pull myself together. I’ve been a sixty-two-year-old fool for a lot of years now.”
The audience laughed.
Nicholas smiled politely.
“So let me ask you this,” Steve said. “What made you write this book?”
Nicholas sat up straight.
“I wrote this book because my mom started to teach me big words. So when I was at school and I asked to collaborate, my teacher messaged my mom. When I got home, my mom asked me, ‘Do I wanna write a book?’ And I said yes. That’s where it all began.”
The audience went “aww” and applauded.
“Tell me about your book,” Steve said. “What is it about?”
“My book is about helping kids expand their vocabularies. Kayla and Kyle are having an election. And throughout the way, Kayla and Kyle are using big words.”
“Kayla and Kyle,” Steve repeated. “Oh, they the walking dictionaries.”
“Yes.”
“And they just walk around using big words?”
“They’re having an election. And yes, they use big words.”
Steve leaned in.
“Have you ever talked to an adult that didn’t know what you was talking about?”
Nicholas didn’t hesitate.
“Plenty of times.”
The audience cracked up.
Steve shook his head. “You don’t know what it feel like to be a grown man, talking to a child, and you don’t know how to talk to him because you’re scared he might say something with a big word you don’t know?”
Nicholas tilted his head.
“Can I do it right now?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Okay. Exacerbate.”
Steve’s face went blank. “Ex-asa-what?”
“Exacerbate.”
Steve squinted. “What does that mean?”
“Take a guess.”
Steve shrugged. “I got nothing.”
Nicholas smiled. “It means to make a situation worse.”
Steve laughed so hard he had to lean back.
“Yeah, that’s what it’ll do. Say it again.”
“Ex-ac-er-bate.”
“Okay, but who you hollering at though?”
The audience lost it.
Nicholas just grinned.
Hinged sentence #4: In less than thirty seconds, an eight-year-old had made Steve Harvey reconsider his entire vocabulary—and the audience was here for every second.
Part Six: The Spelling Bee Question
“So you could probably spell good too, huh?” Steve asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Man, you ever enter spelling bees and stuff?”
Nicholas shook his head. “I don’t have time for that. I’m writing books.”
Steve pointed at him. “You on Amazon, bestseller list and everything. You recently had a book signing, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How did that go?”
“It went well. It was at Barnes and Noble. I sold out of books in less than an hour.”
The audience cheered.
Steve looked genuinely impressed.
“I heard you been receiving some letters from kids who bought your book. What have they been saying?”
Nicholas’s voice softened.
“They say I inspire them. And they wanna write books too.”
Steve was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “Man, you a good kid, you know that?”
“Yeah.”
“You pretty fly too.”
“Thanks.”
Steve leaned back. “Being smart is a great gift to have.”
Nicholas nodded. “I know.”
“I didn’t get that gift when I was growing up.”
Nicholas looked at him seriously. “But you are smart.”
The audience erupted in applause.
Steve put his hand over his heart.
“Well, I appreciate you saying that, man. I’m smart about a couple things. But big words? I’m not really good at big words. I never had this book. See, if I’d have had this book when I was a kid, I’d have knew some big words—”
He pretended to pull a book from his jacket.
“Standing in front of the mirror with it—”
“Innate,” Nicholas said.
Steve’s jaw dropped. “You ain’t even read that. How you know that?”
Nicholas shrugged. “I can memorize the book.”
Steve shook his head in disbelief.
Hinged sentence #5: Nicholas had memorized his own book—not because he had to, but because every word in it was a friend he wanted to keep.
Part Seven: The Three Goals
“Okay, lemme ask you this,” Steve said. “I heard you got a pretty big goal for yourself. What is that?”
Nicholas sat up straighter.
“My goal is to get my book into every elementary school library in the United States.”
Steve pointed at him. “Let’s go to work. Let’s go to work.”
“I have two more goals.”
“Two more?”
“Yes. Another one is to donate some books to take to Ghana to give to their schools and libraries.”
Steve’s eyebrows rose. “Ghana?”
“My father is there. He’s building a school.”
The audience went quiet.
“And another goal,” Nicholas continued, “is to get enough subscribers for my YouTube channel. I’m doing a ’30-Second Word.’ It’s where I teach you a word in thirty seconds or less.”
Steve stood up.
“Okay, lemme tell you what I’m gonna do.”
He walked over to Nicholas.
“How many of these books do you want to put in Ghana?”
Nicholas didn’t hesitate. “Five hundred and fifty-five?”
Steve looked at the audience.
“Since you’re such a smart kid and you’re trying real hard, I’m gonna buy five hundred and fifty-five books. And we gonna put them in the schools of Ghana.”
The audience went wild.
“How about that?”
Nicholas’s eyes lit up. “Deal.”
“Yeah, that’s one of your goals, baby. And we going to make the rest of ’em come true too.”
“Okay.”
Steve shook his hand. “I enjoyed talking with you, man. You’re a smart young fella. Keep up the good work.”
Nicholas walked off stage, and the audience gave him a standing ovation.
His mother was waiting in the wings, crying.
“You did it,” she whispered.
“We did it,” Nicholas said. “Now let’s go find five hundred and fifty-five books.”
Hinged sentence #6: The number 555 had started as an odd choice—but now it was a lifeline stretching from Los Angeles to Ghana.
Part Eight: Harvey’s Hundreds All-Stars
The cameras cut to commercial, and when they returned, Steve was at the game board.
“Alright, everybody, welcome back. We’ve had some amazing contestants come on the show to play Harvey’s Hundreds, and we wanted to bring a few of the best players back to go head to head. This is Harvey’s Hundreds All-Stars.”
The intro music played.
“Let’s meet our contestants for the day.”
A woman walked out in a flight attendant uniform.
“Back in December, she got all ten matches correct with three seconds left on the board. She’s a flight attendant from Los Angeles. Please welcome back Cheryl!”
Cheryl waved, smiling.
“And with four seconds to spare back in January, she got all ten matches and won a thousand dollars. She lives in LA and works as a city employee. Please welcome back Keyshala!”
Keyshala jogged out, high-fiving the audience.
Steve stood between them.
“Alright, you ladies ready to go head-to-head in Harvey’s Hundreds?”
“Yeah!” they shouted in unison.
“Here’s how this is going to work. You each gonna get a shot to play again. The contestant who gets the most matches will be our winner for the day. The top finisher not only gets to keep the money they win, they also get their opponent’s money as well.”
Cheryl grinned. “Mm-hmm.”
Steve lowered his voice. “It’s a very hurtful situation to have to go over to their seat and take some money out of somebody’s hand.”
The audience laughed nervously.
“Before the show, we did a coin flip. Keyshala is going to play first.”
Keyshala stepped up to the board.
“Cheryl, have a seat.”
Cheryl sat on the contestant couch, crossing her legs.
“Alright, here’s how the game works,” Steve explained. “We put twenty pictures up on the board. You got sixty seconds to match ’em up. A hundred dollars for each match. Match all ten, that’s a thousand dollars. Hopefully you’ll be able to keep that money. Alright?”
Keyshala nodded. “All right.”
“Let’s flip ’em over. Scramble ’em up.”
The tiles flipped and shuffled.
“Keyshala, your time will start after you pick your first two numbers. Go!”
Keyshala’s hands flew.
“One, two. Three, four. Five, six. Seven, eight.”
She was fast.
“Six, seven. Six, seven, eight, nine. Ten, eleven. Five, eight. Five, eight. Ten, eleven. Twelve, thirteen. Eleven, twelve. Twelve, ten. Twelve, ten. Thirteen, fourteen.”
Steve tried to keep up. “Two, thirteen!”
“Two, thirteen? Fourteen, fifteen. Sixteen, seventeen. Eleven, sixteen. Seventeen, eighteen. Three, thirteen. Two, eighteen. Two, eighteen. Nineteen, twenty. Nine, two. Nine—”
“Two, nineteen,” Steve called.
“Two, nineteen. Nine, twenty. Fourteen, eighteen. Fifteen—”
“One. One, fifteen. One!”
The buzzer sounded.
Keyshala exhaled.
Steve counted the matches on the board.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.” He grinned. “You got seven hundred dollars.”
Keyshala pumped her fist. “All right!”
“Take a seat over there.”
She walked to the contestant bench, glowing.
“Let’s go, Cheryl!” someone in the audience shouted.
Steve turned to Cheryl. “Hope you hold on to it, because Lord have mercy.”
Cheryl stepped up to the board.
“You ready?”
“Yep.”
“Alright, let’s flip ’em over. Scramble ’em up.”
The tiles scrambled.
“Your time will start after your first two numbers. Go!”
Cheryl didn’t waste a second.
“One, six.”
“One, six.”
“Two, twelve.”
“Two, twelve.”
“Three, thirteen. Four, fourteen. One, four. One, four. Two, three—I already did those.”
She kept going.
“Five, ten. Fifteen, twenty. Eighteen, nineteen.”
“Five, fifteen,” Steve said.
“Five, fifteen! Three, eighteen. Seven, seventeen.”
“Seven, seventeen.”
“Seventeen, twenty—yes! Twelve, fourteen. Seven, ten!”
“Yep.”
Cheryl was sweating now.
“Okay, okay. Two, eleven. Come on, come on, come on, come on!”
The clock was ticking down.
“Two, twelve! Two, twelve! Two, six, eleven! Six, eleven. Woo!”
She was on a roll.
“Sixteen, nineteen.”
“Sixteen, nineteen.”
“Sixteen, fourteen! Yes! Eight, nine!”
“All right!”
The buzzer sounded.
Cheryl stepped back, gasping. “Oh, I’m out.”
Steve counted her matches.
“How many matches?”
He pointed at the board.
“Oh, you each got seven. Two, three, four, five, six, seven. And you both got down to the buzzer, so you won seven hundred—”
He pointed at Keyshala.
“And you won seven hundred.”
Cheryl shrugged. “I’m good with that!”
Steve laughed. “That’s it.”
The audience applauded.
“We’ll be right back.”
Hinged sentence #7: Two women, seven matches each, and a tie that reminded everyone that sometimes winning isn’t about beating someone else—it’s about showing up and doing your best.
Part Nine: After the Show
Nicholas watched the game segment from the green room.
He had never seen Harvey’s Hundreds before.
“Mom, why do they have to memorize pictures?”
Grace sat next to him. “It’s a memory game. Like the one you play with your vocabulary words.”
Nicholas thought about that.
“My brain works differently,” he said. “I don’t memorize pictures. I memorize words.”
“That’s your gift, baby.”
“The man said being smart is a gift.”
“It is.”
Nicholas looked at his book, sitting on the table.
“And I want to give it away.”
Grace smiled.
“Then let’s go home and start packing five hundred and fifty-five books.”
Part Ten: Six Months Later
The books arrived in Ghana on a warm Tuesday in March.
Nicholas watched the video on his phone.
His father stood in front of a small schoolhouse, holding one of the books.
The roof was new. The walls were painted bright blue.
And inside, a shelf was filled with copies of Kayla and Kyle, the Walking Dictionaries.
“Nicholas,” his father said, his voice crackling over the video call. “The children here are so happy. They are learning big words now.”
Nicholas wiped his eyes.
“That’s good, Dad.”
“Fifty-five more schools want your book.”
Nicholas nodded. “Then we send fifty-five more.”
His father smiled. “You are a good boy.”
“No, Dad. I’m a walking dictionary.”
They both laughed.
Grace came into the room and wrapped her arms around Nicholas.
“Your YouTube channel passed one hundred thousand subscribers.”
Nicholas nodded. “I know. I posted a new word this morning.”
“What word?”
“Exacerbate.”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the word you taught Steve Harvey?”
Nicholas grinned. “Yes. And now a hundred thousand people know it too.”
He pulled up his phone and played the video.
“Exacerbate. It means to make a situation worse. For example, forgetting your homework doesn’t exacerbate the problem—but lying about it does. Thanks for watching. See you tomorrow.”
The video had ten thousand likes.
Nicholas closed his phone and looked at the globe in his room.
He spun it with his finger.
It landed on Africa.
“Mom,” he said. “What’s the word for someone who wants to change the world?”
Grace thought for a moment.
“I think that word is ‘Nicholas.'”
He laughed.
But she wasn’t joking.
Hinged sentence #8: The boy who had started with a dictionary and a dream had become something more than a genius—he had become a movement.
Part Eleven: The Letter
A week later, a letter arrived at their house.
It was handwritten, in crayon, on lined paper.
Dear Nicholas,
My name is Malik. I am seven years old. I live in Chicago. My mom bought me your book. I did not know what “election” meant. Now I do. I want to write a book too. But I don’t know big words like you.
Can you help me?
Your friend, Malik
Nicholas read the letter three times.
Then he sat down at his desk and wrote back.
Dear Malik,
You already know big words. You just don’t know you know them. Write down every word you love. That’s your dictionary. Then write a story using those words. That’s your book.
I believe in you.
Your friend, Nicholas
P.S. The word for today is “perseverance.” It means to keep going even when it’s hard. Don’t stop.
He put the letter in an envelope and gave it to his mother.
“Mail this today,” he said.
“Who’s it for?”
“My friend Malik. He’s going to write a book.”
Grace smiled. “How do you know?”
Nicholas picked up his own book and flipped to the first page.
“Because I was him once.”
Hinged sentence #9: The greatest word Nicholas had ever learned wasn’t in any dictionary—it was “enough,” and he was teaching the world that every child was exactly that.
Part Twelve: The 30-Second Word Goes Viral
By the time Nicholas turned nine, his YouTube channel had half a million subscribers.
Teachers played his videos in classrooms.
Parents used his words as dinner table challenges.
Even Steve Harvey mentioned him in an interview.
“That kid,” Steve said, “is smarter than all of us combined. And he’s got more heart too.”
Nicholas’s 30-Second Word became a daily ritual for thousands of families.
“Tenacious. It means persistent. Like a dog with a bone.”
“Mellifluous. It means sweet-sounding. Like your favorite song.”
“Epiphany. It means a sudden realization. Like when you finally understand a math problem.”
And one day, he posted a special video.
“Today’s word is special,” Nicholas said into the camera.
He held up a copy of his book.
“The word is legacy. It means something handed down from the past. Like a tradition. Or a dream.”
He paused.
“My father is in Ghana building schools. My mother is here, making sure I eat my vegetables. And I’m sitting in my bedroom, teaching you words.”
He smiled.
“That’s my legacy. What’s yours?”
The video got five million views.
Hinged sentence #10: At nine years old, Nicholas Buamah had already figured out what most adults never do—that a legacy isn’t about what you take, but what you leave behind.
Epilogue: One Year Later
The school in Ghana was finished.
Nicholas’s father came home for Christmas.
They sat around the dinner table—Nicholas, his mother, his father, and a stack of five hundred and fifty-five books waiting to be shipped.
“So,” his father said, “what’s next?”
Nicholas pushed up his glasses.
“I’m writing a sequel. Kayla and Kyle go to the zoo. They learn animal words. Things like pachyderm and lepidopteran.”
His father laughed. “You made those up.”
“No, Dad. A pachyderm is a thick-skinned animal. Like an elephant. And a lepidopteran is a butterfly or moth.”
His father shook his head.
“You really are a walking dictionary.”
Nicholas grinned.
“I know.”
He picked up his copy of Kayla and Kyle, the Walking Dictionaries: Election Day.
On the inside cover, he had written a dedication.
To every kid who ever felt different—your big words are your superpower. Use them.
He closed the book.
Outside, the snow was falling.
And somewhere in Chicago, a seven-year-old named Malik was writing his own book.
The word of the day was perseverance.
And Nicholas Buamah was just getting started.
The End.