The Flash Mob for My Sister's Sixtieth

My sister has always said she hates surprises. For her sixtieth birthday in March, I organized a flash mob anyway.

It took two months. I recruited forty people: her husband, her kids, her grandkids, her book club, her coworkers, her mail carrier and her dentist. We learned a dance to "September" by Earth, Wind & Fire in my basement and in the parking lot of her church after Sunday service, while she was inside.

On her birthday, I took her to lunch at the outdoor plaza downtown. At exactly one o'clock, the music started blasting from a speaker. Her husband, who was supposedly at work, jumped up from a bench and started dancing. Then her grandkids. Then the dentist. Then all forty people.

She screamed. She covered her face. Then she laughed so hard she cried. At the last chorus, her grandkids pulled her into the middle, and she danced with us, terribly and wonderfully.

Afterward, she hugged me and said, "I still hate surprises." Then she made me promise a sequel for her seventieth.