Baby Birthdays and Piñata Pummeling

by Kaya

As I enter my thirties, children become more and more a part of my life. I find myself in discussions on how many kids my fiancé and I will have, (I’m pushing for a very average 2.3 – allowing one child to be shared with two other couples) noticing that babies become cuter and cuter and spending time with friends who have little ones running around. I couldn’t be more excited or scared about entering that chapter of my life. While the transition from “Macho Jim” to “Snot-wiping Dad” is frightening, my dreams of creating a life and forcing it to believe what I believe is within reach.

Being around children means going to children’s birthday parties. I was off to attend the second birthday party for my friend’s beautiful daughter Hannah (when I pointed out that her name was a palindrome – a word that can be read both forwards and backwards – my buddy said, “So you’re going to be that guy, huh?” Maybe I’ll name my kid Splash or Crack or Drip so he can point out to him that his name is an onomatopoeia. Of course I’d be ensuring that my darling son ‘Drip’ gets beat up everyday, but what a grasp he’ll have of literary terms!)

Like usual, I stopped by a drugstore to do some birthday gift shopping. I was hoping to get her either art supplies or Chinese throwing stars – and the store was out of the latter. All of the items in the art supply department (although glitter glue and 10 pack of crayons hardly qualifies as a “department”) had “AGES 3 AND UP” posted on them.

Now, I don’t normally check age restrictions on items I buy and I didn’t know if this was an age law (like buying liquor and voting) or an age suggestion (like purchasing firearms or starring in a porno). If a two year old cruised in with money in hand, could they buy the “Three and Up” crayons? Would they need to show ID or have their friend’s older brother who drives an El Camino buy it for them? I decided Hannah was a smart girl and was probably a year (or 50% of her age) ahead and bought her some water colors and paper.

The party itself was great. Kids running around, adults drinking beer, dogs running down kids and not a single lawn dart fatality. A wonderful day to celebrate being two.

Then the parents brought out a piñata.

The excited children gathered around to take their turns with this colorful donkey-ish creature dangling from a tree like a prisoner of Muppet war. The beast’s dead eyes stared off into the distance, seemingly accepting its miserable fate. Children began warming-up, eagerly awaiting a chance to wield the broom handle of justice.

Hannah gently tapped at creature. More pushing it like a friend on the swing set than someone intent on disemboweling. After a few moments of this display of kindness, an older boy grabbed the stick and showed her how to SMACK the animal.

WHACK! SMASH! DRIP! POW!

Suddenly, much to the surprise of this adorable two year old, candy, sweet, glorious candy began to flow from the open gash on the side of this beast. The more they beat in the sides to this nearly decapitated piñata, the more life-giving candy spewed from its sides. Candy literally exploded onto the grass with each violent whacking with the broom handle.

The defeated animal had nothing left to give. It was unceremoniously pulled down and thrown away. No Tootsie Rolls, no Laffy Taffy, not even any Bazooka Joe gum was left inside the papier-mâché carcass. Such is the life of an animal whose internal organs are made up of candy.

What a curious lesson this must be for a young child. “Let me get this straight…if I whack an animal hard enough, candy will pour from it’s torso? Holy crap!”

If Hannah’s parents weren’t so attentive and loving, I may have been more concerned about the gift she received from some other friends. A new puppy – whose insides may or may not be made up of Bit-O-Honey pieces and Gobstoppers.