seattle
by mikka
The Fremont Troll, who lives, appropriately enough, under a bridge on Troll Avenue.
More Tokudas than you can shake a stick at, in which almost nobody is blinking: starting in the upper lefthand corner and moving clockwise: Kip, Pei Ming, Barb, Gary, Mom, Me, Michiko, Alan, Anne, Butchie, Marilyn, Shobo, Susie and my grandmother.
Strangest and best coincidence ever: you can always count on my mom's side of the family to have at least one big dinner at a Chinese restaurant whenever there's a birthday or a wedding or any other excuse to have a big dinner. My great-uncle Shobo's eightieth birthday was no exception - everyone piled into cars and caravanned out past Mercer Island to his favorite Chinese restaurant. When we walked in, a gospel choir on the otherside of the restaurant started singing an amazing birthday song to someone at their table that made everyone in the restaurant stop talking, and we all kind of sheepishly realized we hadn't even brought candles for Shobo's cake. So my mom, ever the wallflower, ran over to their table and asked if they wouldn't mind singing for her uncle as well; they said yes, and when she told them his name, the choir directer's 60 year old husband immediately freaked out because it turns out Shobo had been his high school art teacher and basketball coach more than forty years ago. So not only did they come over and sing a pretty amazing gospel birthday song, but my uncle got to have a reunion with one of his former students; the guy was clearly thrilled to see him, and they chatted for a long time and he made sure to tell us all how inspiring and wonderful Shobo was. Which is no surprise - Shobo is the nicest man in the world - but I really can't imagine a nicer thing to happen, especially on your birthday, and as a teacher, I can't imagine how wonderful that must feel to know someone remembers you forty years down the line. So, happy birthday again, Uncle Shobo!
