As an end of the semester treat for my first round of Journalism students, I had all of them over to our place for a pizza party. One of the students took orders, but was supposed to call in the order and have it delivered to our place. Being frugal, with my money, he placed the order, but instead, had it delivered to the university so there would not be a delivery charge. The university, though, twelve minutes away, is in district eight. The pizza place does not deliver free to district seven.
They were all due at 1:00, so when 1:30 came around, I thought the joke was on me. At 2:00, my mobile displayed an apology and the reason for their being late. Pizzas take time to cook and be delivered.
At 2:15, when the doorbell rang, I was reassured that they were indeed planning on our little festive gathering. Two of the young men were carrying three 62cm (24.5 inches) diameter pizzas. After reimbursing him, we settled into eating and sat around the living room with the sofa, love seat, and the kitchen chairs. As thrilled as I was to have them here, they were so quiet, there was a continual fear that they were not enjoying themselves.
They gave me a box of Oreo cookies, a can of Dr. Pepper, and a jar of peanut butter that they found at the high end gourmet grocery store. They thought I may be missing some things from home. After sharing the Oreos, I had remembered how good a simple cookie could taste. Later, I drank the Dr. Pepper. It tasted better than ever.
I won’t have them next semester, but they will always be my “kids” just like the 150 other students who I have had in the past for other classes.