To Document the Encounter of an Interesting Character

So, the main reason that I came on here is to document the encounter of an interesting man that we met at the Olive Garden tonight; he was our waiter, and the first thing that struck me was that he looked a lot like Mike Aiken from drumline, except taller, and a little different. He was super-skinny with glasses and lots of flair on the collar of his work attire.
His voice had a Southern sort of slur in it; and this was the reason for tonight's instance of my renewal of my faith in humanity.
We were sitting around, full, when he approached our table to box our leftover food.
"Will you guys be having any dessert tonight?" he asked. "Maybe some coffee cake, or tirami siu (I might have just murdered the spelling of that)?" But the point is, he said 'tirami siu' in a way that brought to mind old Southern women, rocking in a rocking chair on a large plantation-style porch. And this renewed my faith in humanity, yes.
My father and grandfather were discussing the tip, and I said, "He deserves 18% just for the way that he said 'tirami siu.'" They ended up tipping at least 20%, though I don't think that his pronunciation figured into the amount that they decided on. He was a super-nice guy (though I don't remember his name), and I hope that any of my readers who frequent the Olive Garden have him in the future (and if he doesn't mention it during the meal, ask him to name a list of possible dessert items so that your faith in humanity can be renewed also).
We had an absorbing conversation during the meal that involved my dad's Sunday school teacher, of whom he is rather in awe. Apparently his lectures go beyond the boundaries of conventional Christianity and touch on the controversial things that might offend some of closed minds. My dad said that the lectures focused on the "Sermon on the Mount" and the old and new covenants, mainly the interpretation of the second one. My dad's Sunday school teacher took the second covenant to mean that our purpose in life is to bring "Godliness," or heaven, to Earth, to make a "New Jerusalem" with the tools that we are given; and that tool, being the most vital part of the formula, is Love. Not through judgment, but through mercy and love of our brothers shall we bring about an ideal society. In the middle of this conversation, I had a mind to ask, "Well, what about the people who already died? If this 'New Jerusalem' is indeed going to come to pass in our tangible Earth, then how will the deceased be able to take part in it?" to which he responded, "I believe that they've already played their part in God's plan." I sat on this as an earlier point was being debated back and forth, and came to the conclusion that my dad most likely was not hinting at the possibility that people, just because of the misfortune of being born too soon, would not be able to go to "Heaven." The way he said it provoked me to believe that he was hinting at something deeper, something, perhaps, that he was afraid the others wouldn't approve of, being of conventional Christian beliefs. So I asked him, trying to be just as discreet, "So, are you implying that the deceased (who have played their part in God's plan) possess a sort of energy that allowed them to bring the Earth that much closer to its intended state, and once their body perishes, that energy (or soul) moves on to occupy a new vessel?" My dad nodded and tried to be humble, "Well, I'm not saying that that's the way it is; that's just what I believe." Despite that being his own belief, I sat and thought on his proposal for a while; I'd already known that my dad believed in a reincarnation of sorts, and as I grow older and observe the various cycles around me (such as the water cycle, cycle of seasons, even in the behavior of certain animals), this seems to make more sense; it would simply be another cycle in nature, a cycle of energy, which exists already: no energy is created or destroyed (or at least, I think that's how the law goes, Law of Conservation of Energy, or something like that). So anyways, I apologize for even including this long rant on here; it's more for my future self to ponder than for anyone else. Disregard it if its content offends you.
Anyways, today was eventful in other ways as well: my dad had his examination done today; he wasn't allowed to eat anything except for jello yesterday, hence our celebration at the Olive Garden tonight. Also, apparently my short story, entitled "Eleanor," will get a good grade from Ms. Jones, because I shared it today and she seemed to like it all right. Our band concert is on Thursday, and our Christmas parade is on Saturday. My grandparents, sadly, will be leaving tomorrow, but their stay here has been of a longer length than usual and eventful.
I also think that I'll briefly mention a stressful dream that I had a few nights ago. It was the end of a school day, and Saoirse and I were walking to where the landing would be in waking life, across from the auditorium at the main building. Instead of the landing, there was this huge enclosed space that reminded me of a greenhouse, though the glass was clear. There were a pair of double doors where the landing would be, and one could see the parking lots beyond the glass. When Saoirse and I arrived in this enclosed area, she immediately looked up to the top of the colossal structure.
"What're you looking for?" I asked.
"Oh, my mom's painting the wall up there today." she said distractedly; she finally spotted her mom, who was wearing paint-streaked jeans and a tank top; she stood on the roof several feet above us, and she waved jovially. We returned the wave and sat down against the wall, looking out toward the glass.
Through some doors on our left emerged what must have been about half of the school population, led by an un-named person in a certain orange shirt, who made a knot in the depths of my stomach tighten. I sat there, tense, trying to inspire myself to take some sort of action; the people, meanwhile, took seats all along the wall in chattering groups, also waiting for something. Un-named person scurried around as if he was in a desperate search for a lost object. I stood up to speak to him, but he rushed past and out through the double-glass doors as though he was leaving the school grounds completely. I sat down, deflated, until he rushed back in and stood near the doors, beckoning to the rest of the school population with his hand. They stood together, one great mass, and marched toward the door, which he held open. He tried to reach to hold the other door open as well, and so I jumped at the chance to help. I walked up and held the other door, attempting to converse with him through the mobs of people who were walking past, with whom he was engaged in conversation. Then, as the last people filed through, he followed quickly without a word or glance in my direction, and I waved a wave that the back of his head didn't see. Then a woman appeared who was his mother in the dream, though I'm fairly certain that she looks different in waking life, and she stood on the sidewalk in front of the glass door which I still held open, looking at me sadly. She said something unimportant which I forget now; the only part I remember from the dream after this was noticing a piece of dropped paper on the ground near the other door which was held open by the un-named person. I picked up this paper and read, in that handwriting, "Dinner party plans: gather everyone invited near the landing, wait for the cars to drive us there. . ." and then I didn't read on. Keep in mind that the group going was about as large as half the school's population. It was about here that I woke up.