I was interrupted by a knock at the door. I looked out, then down. Staring up at me was a young boy, about my brother Craig's age, in a yellow T-shirt and blue shorts. "What are you doing?" he asked. Quietly, I told him I was preparing to leave. "You can't!" he insisted. "You need to stay for our birthday party."

This boy spoke exceptional English. As part of my quick and dirty education I had learned that if children from the Klong Toey slums speak English, it's not thanks to a private school education, or any education at all. It's because they've worked as prostitutes for English-speaking foreigners. The boy spoke English with a European accent. I stopped, looked into his eyes, and listened.

The boy explained that as street kids, he and his friends did not know their parents, let alone their ages or birthdates. But that didn't stop them from celebrating. Each and every year, everyone would get together and pool their hard-earned pennies to hold one massive birthday party. The festivities were days away.

I was blown away.

...A few days later, I set out for the party unsure of what to expect. I heard the laughter before I saw the feast. When the children saw me, they shouted with delight, happy to have one more friend with whom to share their banquet of peanuts and watermelons.

It was one of the most meaningful moments of my life. I was humbled to be part of such a remarkable gathering. A bunch of kids, too poor to buy shoes, gave me the gift of perspective. After the food, there was singing, dancing, storytelling, and much more laughter. Unlike the birthday parties of my youth, there was no mountain of presents, yet the room was filled with joy. I was surrounded by children who were celebrating life in the middle of hardship. It was then I began to understand the true meaning of happiness.

-Marc Kielburger, Chief Executive Director of Free The Children and co-author of Me to We: Finding Meaning in a Material World.