The Island of Eternal Summer

I was at a friend’s house in Auckland, New Zealand. I must have been nine or ten at the time. I’m not sure. I’m not good with numbers.

Later that day, his mother, who hails from Sweden, decided to take the whole family + me to a Swedish cultural event, where the Swedish community in New Zealand was gathering. Which is to say at least 50 people.

When we arrived at the entrance, there was a raffle for all attendees. The idea was to pick a number from 1–100, and if yours got picked, you’d win whatever the prize was — which, if memory serves, was most probably alcoholic.

Entering the hall, I felt so out of place. Amidst a sea of blondes, I stood out as the only black-haired child.

After picking the number 90, I spent the rest of the evening praying that they wouldn’t call it to spare me the embarrassment of going up on stage and being seen by everyone.

Mercifully, my prayers were answered.