Memories for Free Ninety Nine

When I walked through the entrance and surveyed the restaurant, a cozy but standing-room-only little joint in the middle of the student barrio, the only thing I remember thinking was "I'm coming for you, kung pao chicken." This was at about six o'clock on Saturday night at a happening place stuffed with a bunch of hungry college students; nothing unusual. The class monitor and another student were my escort, and while I knew they took me there to celebrate my birthday, they kept me in the dark about other specifics, so I assumed it'd be just the three of us. After all, it was a holiday weekend and I was aware that most students were going to try to make it home to be with family. So, focused only on the damage I planned to do to an order of kung pao chicken, I stayed close behind those two as they bobbed and weaved through the crowd, up a flight of stairs, and past several private parties tucked away in private rooms, thinking along the way that they were being rather managerial about scouting out a table. Finally, they halted in front of the last door. I thought at this point we'd about-face and try elsewhere for a table. They knocked though, as to announce our arrival and then pushed me into the dimly-lit room, where twenty six of their classmates crowded around a birthday cake and began crooning "Happy Birthday." It took me a moment to register what was going on because I was utterly shocked, but once I came to I felt like a bona fide dignitary, the biggest kahuna on the planet.

After the song and the blowing out of candles, I was led to the honorary seat facing the door, given one of those paper crowns to sport for the evening, and one by one each person toasted to my happiness and health. I KO'd lots of kung pao chicken, I had a cake that was gussied up with peaches and grapes, and I got to hang out for an evening with some of the sweetest people I've ever met. The only lamentable moment of the night came when several students implored me to stand up and sing them a song, and although I really gave a few Neil Diamond tracks some serious consideration, I declined. (I once sang a cappella with some American friends at a Christmas party in Spain, and I vowed afterwards never to do it again.) Anyway, when Christmas rolls around this year, maybe I'll find my friend Dolly Parton's Christmas album and she and I can duet some tunes for the class. I'll start storing up the courage.

I intended this post to be about my students' kindness instead of my surprise at the party. I've been thinking about this whole experience a lot recently and wondering what I did to deserve this--them--and there's no good answer. The good karma is pouring in for who knows what reason, and I know I better reciprocate and spread it around. Maybe I should rewatch that overdone disaster of a movie Kevin Spacey and Helen Hunt made when they were relevant, Pay It Forward, for some inspiration. Then again, movies like that make me lose faith in such ideas. Only thing left to say I guess: despite the fact that twenty seven is no real feat or milestone as far as birthdays go, this was one to write home about. I'll never forget it.