1 in 45,000

When I was in the seventh grade, I raised my hand to answer a question during my sixth period "Skills for Adolescents" class. My teacher, Mr. Cirelli, was eager to call on me because I was a seething ball of anger at the time and rarely raised my hand to answer questions he asked. "Yes, Ronald..." he called to me. I then reminded him that my name was Richard.

I told him: "That's okay. All us Filipinos look alike." I felt pretty cool for putting down a teacher, and he took it pretty well. He seemed to shrug it off like it was nothing.

Afterward, Mr. Cirelli apologized for calling me by the wrong name and assured me that it wasn't because he thought all Filipinos looked alike. He went on to tell me that I was unique and that I was special and that there wouldn't be another person like me for a million years. To an angst-filled pre-teen, all of that sounded like a bunch of hooey. Don't forget the fact that I was one of hundreds of students who he taught that year.

Over the years, Mr. Cirelli proved me wrong. I'd run into him from time to time and he always remembered me. Imagine my shock when he appeared at my graduation and shook my hand as he told me how proud he was of me.

A couple of weeks ago, I checked with the Chicago Marathon office and found out that I was the only "Richie" registered for the race next month. The woman who verified asked me: "How does it feel to be the only Richie running the Chicago Marathon? You're one in 45,000."

That made me think of Mr. Cirelli and what he told me that day. In all fairness, there is a possibility that there are a lot of "Richards" running the marathon and they could go by the nickname "Richie." But it's also fun to imagine that things magically work out the way that one of your favorite teachers say that they'd work out.