Feeling Like the Most Important Person

Today would be my father’s 85th birthday if he were still with us. The fact that he made it to 83 is quite a feat. I am so sorry that he is not still around to hear about my adventures all over North Carolina teaching it Mah Jongg.

He would have loved that I spent his birthday in Morehead City, a place of great shenanigans for him in his VES and UNC days. He always told me never to take a drink called Purple Jesus if it was offered to me based on his dirty rush experience.

He would want to know all the names of all my students and he would tell me that he had gone to school with their father or was the Marshall for their aunt. He would know who everyone was when I never know who anyone is.

To me all my students are just nice people I get to teach. Whenever someone says, “Well, you know who she is don’t you?” I always respond, “No, and I really don’t care.” I either like you for you or I don’t like you for you. Who your people are is of little consequence.

My father was that way too. Even though he did know who everyone was, he really didn’t care. He just liked nice people. He would have loved these sweet friends Scottie had over for cocktails tonight after class.

I hope my Dad is smiling down knowing that we still tell “Ed stories.” His body may be gone, but he will always loom large in the memories of those who knew him or even those who just encountered him, like a waitress or a taxi driver he would take great interest in. He had a way of making each person he met feel special, like they were the most important person in the room.

I wish that I had that same effect on people, no matter who they are. I wish that everyone always felt like they were the most important person in the room.