Honk If You Love Sofi

My daughter turned seven in April, the spring when everything was closed. She'd been planning her party since Christmas. When I told her it couldn't happen, she nodded bravely and went to her room. I sat in the kitchen feeling terrible.

So I sent one text to the parents in her class. By the next morning, I had replies from twenty-three families.

At two p.m. on her birthday, I told her to come sit on the front step. She was confused. Then she heard the first horn.

A line of cars came down our street, decorated with streamers, balloons and handmade signs. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOFI!" "SEVEN IS HEAVEN!" Kids leaned out the windows waving. A fire truck from the station two blocks away joined the end, lights flashing, siren whooping. Her teacher drove by in a dinosaur costume.

My daughter froze on the step, eyes huge. Then she jumped up and down and waved at every single car. When it was over, she turned to me with a face I'll never forget and said, "That was better than a party."