My niece just turned nine. And for her birthday, she had a party, because, that’s what little kids do on their birthday. They have parties, on their birthday. Because it’s their birthday. I’m writing like this to convey the same feeling I had when my niece told me it was her birthday, and that she was having a party and if I would like to come to it I could, to her party she was having for her birthday.
So I did. I attended her birthday, her party, at a park where nearly 20 children around her age, some younger and some older, attended with presents, their parents and loads of energy.
On the agenda were games such as water balloons, bobbing for apples, and the highlight of the day, a pinata to swing at while blind folded after being spun around numerous times. The pinata was shaped as the popular cartoon character, SpongeBob SquarePants.
He, incidentally, lives in a pineapple under the sea. He’s SpongeBob SquarePants. I knew this because my niece, along with five other children, was singing the program’s theme song. Over and over until it was ingrained in my head, at this party, for my niece’s birthday.
All I thought when I saw it was, These kids are going to be traumatized. They’re going to smack the crap out of SpongeBob until he bleeds out candy. Then, when he does a “special appearance” at the mall, kids will run up to him with baseball bats and swing at him, only to be disappointed that, not only was there no candy, but the person in the costume was suing the child’s parents for assault.
While my brother searched for a place to hang SpongeBob, with all of the places being unsuccessful, I recommended the basketball hoop just a few yards away. My brother walked over with the rope and the cardboard shaped SpongeBob, filled with candy because the kids weren’t hyper enough, and hanged SpongeBob from the hoop’s rim.
From a distance, it looked as if SpongeBob had committed suicide, hanging there by a rope, spinning in circles from the wind’s gust, all this with a smile on his face. I uttered this to one child’s parent and she looked at me and said, “What is wrong with you?”
This, coming from a woman who also had a pinata for her daughter’s birthday but didn’t fill it up with candy because she THOUGHT it already came filled. I asked, “Didn’t you realize it was hollow?” She said shut up and all I could think of was the poor, deflated expressions on the kids’ faces when the pinata came crashing down.
I replied, “I’m just saying. It looks like he committed suicide.”
When my brother returned to the group, the kids bobbed for apples and played water balloons. For some reason, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the recently suicided SpongeBob. So, I decided to write out a note and stick it under SpongeBob’s armpit. The note read: “Damn you kids. I can’t take it anymore.” – SpongeBob.
About thirty minutes passed and it was time to hit the pinata. I swear, I had forgotten about the note. The children all lined up, and one boy noticed the suicide note. He read it and began to cry. Actually, he began to weep. His mother read the note and, suffice it to say, all arrows pointed to me.
I said, “Oh my God. I forgot about that.”
His mother, consoling her now upset child, looked at me and said, “Look at what you did. He’s crying because he thought SpongeBob killed himself.”
I replied, “Killed himself? Your kid was gonna hit him with a stick!”
Needless to say, he cried for a few minutes, and the party continued as best it could. This party, for my niece’s birthday, who was now nine, as evidenced by the nine candles on her cake. Her cake, for her birthday, at her party, because this is what children do. They have parties, for their birthday.