There I was, too many years ago to remember all of the details, and that is probably a good thing for some of the participants, teaching my grade 12 English class something really important – the rhyming scheme of a Perarchan sonet likely. It was a typical classroom period for this class with some kids attentive to every word and some dozing. And with Joy chatting away with her deskmate.

She was always chatting, that one, and for those teachers among my readers, you will recognize the type: good student, assignments always in on time, good test scores and always talking. This time I had to stop – Petrarchan sonnets being a favourite of mine – and ask just what was so important that she had to tell her buddy all about it.

She was happy to share with me and the rest of her class that "It's my birthday".

"Well, that's nice, Joy. My daughter Susan has a birthday today as well".

And I could have left it at that. It was a nice coincidence and we both could have smiled benevolently at each other and gone back to the sonnet. Well, I could have at any rate. But I had to steal the stage and make a joke of it.

I said, "You know, sometimes kids get switched in hospital nurseries. Wouldn't it be funny if you and my Susan had been put in the wrong bassinets and I had …" And that's as far as I got.

She swung over her desk – it was right next to mine. I told you she was a chatterbox, didn't I? - threw her arms around me and danced me up and down, shouting, "Daddy, Daddy. Buy me a Ferrari!"

The class loved it. I'm sure the event was dinner-table anecdote in all households with kids party to the scene. Petrarch had to wait another day.

Did I mention that Joy, besides being the chattiest kid in the class with very litte respect for the Italian sonnet was living proof of the boast that "Black is beautiful"? She was.