Domo, Dodo

I’ve known Doris for over thirty years. She’s one of the sweetest, nicest people I’ve ever met. She never raises her voice, and, because she’s physically unimposing. strangers are apt to think that she can be pushed around. But they would be wrong. They don’t know how persistent she can be when arguing with a contractor, her boss, or the bank when she believes she’s right.

Doris tried to retire long ago, but her employer repeatedly summoned her back when youngsters a fraction of her age couldn’t measure up. Earlier this year Doris said that she really meant it this time and retired. Many years of well-deserved leisure await.

On Saturday we celebrated her 90th birthday at Maggiano’s Little Italy restaurant in San Jose. Family and friends flew in from afar. The band played Porter and Gershwin standards that weren’t oldies when Doris first heard them. After heartfelt tributes from her children, Doris got up to say a few words. She spoke of her parents' move to Palo Alto when its population was 1,000 and University Avenue was two blocks long. She mentioned how a wage of $100 per month meant you were doing well. She spoke of how blessed her life has been. She thanked us for coming. No, Dodo—as she’s called by her nieces and nephews--thank you. © 2007 Stephen Yuen

Doris' birthday cake, one of those you hate to cut up.