Happy Birthday, Ray!

Today, we celebrated my father's forty-ninth birthday at the restaurant beneath our hotel in the Gold Coast. My mother and I had booked the night before for six o'clock in the evening.

I had not anticipated the restaurant to be busy, seeing as though the restaurant only opens for two hours a day. We were all welcomed with a hospitable waitress, and were led to a four-seater table on the deck outside the restaurant. Seashell lights hung from the walls, and old brown twigs were hung on the ceiling, providing a calm, decorative atmosphere.

Soon after we were seated, and had ordered, two elderly couples took the table beside us. "We've been keeping it warm all week, hey!" one old man joked. They sat down, exchanged warm smiles with us, and three out of the four ordered a glass of Chardonnay.

The first couple consisted of a man with a great posture in a white polo, who I will call Steve, and his wife who was wearing a funky green Hawaiian-style shirt, who I will call Gloria. Across from Steve sat a frail old lady wearing a pearl necklace and a light pink shirt, who I will call Anne, and beside Anne was her husband, who sat sunken in his chair and clean clothes, who I will call Gregory.

Steve was the happiest person of the lot. He kept cracking jokes, soothing the atmosphere even more for all restaurant attendees. Gloria shone a bright, warm smile in every direction, stopping at whoever noticed it and held it until they smiled back at her. Anne and Gregory kept to themselves - I suppose they were just keen on their meals. From my eavesdropping, I learned that it was Anne and Gregory's first night in Queensland, and Steve and Gloria had brought them to Mano's restaurant to celebrate. They raised their glasses of Chardonnay in commemoration, and to toast.

After our lovely dinner, the waitress brought out our desert, dad's last - with a lit sprinkler in the middle. The waitress began to sing happy birthday, and soon the old couples beside us joined in, as though my father was their son.

'Happy birthday dear Elly, happy birthday to you!' I could swear that at that moment, my otherwise though father's eyes became teary. He looked fragile, relaxed, happy. Steve looked happier - this was something else that would bring him attention. "Happy birthday, Ray!" he boasted, "enjoy it and enjoy every other year! Each year!"

And that was what struck me - not that he misheard my father's name but that he convinced my father to enjoy his life. And at that moment, we all saw just how precious life is.