Piñata
It was a typical birthday party. All the kids were having a great time, and the adults were busy making small talk and simply trying to get through the event. It was a very hot day in August; the kids had the benefit of cooling off in a child-sized pool; the adults all fought for space in the shade and drank horrible Crystal Light Lemon Drink. How long had we been there? An hour? Four hours? Time had lost meaning in the sweltering heat. It was agony. We hadn’t even approached cake, ice cream, or the gifts yet. Even grandma was getting punchy, asking why we couldn’t have beer out in the yard. Nice try, Grandma. We were stuck on that ride to the end.
My sister, mother of Danny the birthday boy, came striding out of the house with a large orange dinosaur under her arm. "OK kids! Who wants to hit a piñata?" Pandemonium ensued. Wet children covered with grass clippings and at least some dog poop mobbed my sister as she hung the unfortunate dinosaur from the clothesline.
"This ought to be entertaining," said the college professor, father of the chunky kid. "Yeah, you might think that," replied the man with unknown occupation who seemed in some way related to the girl who had eaten the sand; I think his name was Bob. "But I’ve seen this whole deal before. I bet even money that an adult has to end up breaking that piñata. It all depends on what kind of bat you give the kids, and if you’ve got a heavy hitter in the group." I immediately thought of the chunky kid.
Of course, my sister gave the kids a two-foot long plastic bat. "No chance," said Bob. The patents lawyer and the corporate attorney wanted some of that action. Patents declared, "I say the big kid breaks it in two tries." Corporate wanted the little red-headed kid: "That kid’s got the desire. Look at him; he can’t wait to kill that thing." That could fairly well have been said about all of the kids, perhaps 12 or 15 in all. They instinctively knew what was expected of them, and they were ready to take their licks. "Kill that thing!" screamed Grandma. We were all ready for a little action.
First kid stepped up. It was Danny, the birthday boy. He had his hands the wrong way on the bat, which is never a good sign. As his uncle, this shamed me. I avoided the sideways glances of the other parents. Danny managed a mighty swing, missing the piñata completely, but making solid contact with my sister’s bare leg. THWACK! I suppressed laughter, though none of the other adults made any such effort. Grandma yelled out "Nice one, Danny! That’s what she gets for not giving us any beer!" Danny took another crack with his backward grip, but to no avail. He hit the piñata, but it merely swung back and forth on the line. No apparent damage was done.
Next kid stepped up. More or less solid contact was made, but no outward evidence of damage to the piñata could be seen. It swung like a grinning orange prehistoric pendulum. This continued all the way through the lineup. The Chunky Kid and the Red Headed Kid fared no better. The children’s enthusiasm turned to frustration and anger. They had batted around, and had thus far been shut out.
Concern covered the faces of the various lookers-on in the shade. Something needed to be done. The mother of the girl with the Hello Kitty sandals stepped forward. "It’s never going to work with that stupid little bat. Use this." And with that, she offered a T-ball bat she had retrieved from her car. "Here we go," said Patents. All of the adults approached the swinging area to get closer to the action.
We all crowded around. Danny stepped up to the piñata again, but this time, at least seven different people took a step forward to help him correct his grip. As his uncle, I knew that this was my responsibility, and everyone else stood down as I instructed Danny on the proper swing and grip. I also noticed that he was stepping in the bucket big-time on his swing, but this wasn’t the time for a Charley Lau tutorial on hitting. Just get the kid in position to swing. Danny’s eyes got big as he took his best cut. SMACK! Danny hit the piñata as well as he possibly could, but still no damage. The dinosaur piñata mocked us with his durability. I turned to look at the other adults. I saw the looks on their faces; no one wanted to say it, but we all knew how this was going to end. Bob was right; these kids just weren’t up to the task at hand.
More swings were taken. With each child that stepped forth to take a mighty cut, our collective anticipation was palpable. We wanted nothing more than to see this piñata explode, and reveal its sweet innards. Each swing was a letdown more powerful than the one before it. One child had begun crying. "The dinosaur can’t be beaten! He’s laughing at us!" she wailed. The party was quickly becoming a disaster.
An awkward silence fell on the backyard. Somebody was going to have to break that damn piñata. I think everybody realized this at about the same time. I saw the excited look in the eyes of Patents, Corporate, Grandma, the mother of the kid that Danny didn’t like, and others. Everybody wanted a chance to hit that thing. But there could be only one. I seized the moment.
"Give me that bat." I yanked the bat from my sister’s hands. Everybody took a large step backwards as I took some warm-up swings. "Hit him in the chest," said Patents. "No, in the back," said next-door-neighbor Jerry. "Smash him in the back." "Just kill that sucker!" screamed Grandma. "Smash his face in!"
I readied my stance, slowly swinging to the spot where I hoped to make contact. The dinosaur slowly turned on it’s string to face me; just as I saw his laughing face come into view, I cried out "Who wants some candy?" "Do it," I heard Aunt Peg say as I unloaded.
BAM! The dinosaur immediately exploded in a cloud of paper mache, candy and tissue paper. There was only silence as we watched the bottom half of the piñata sail through the air, leaving a trail of candy like contrails in the sky. Then, we heard the sound of the sweet rain of candy as it hit the lawn all around us. The piñata landed on the roof of the house two yards down, spreading candy all over the shingles on the impact. Some of the candy slowly tumbled into and over the gutter and on to the ground.
"OMYGOD," screamed one of the children. Anarchy broke out. Kids and even a couple of adults frantically ran around the yard, picking up candy and trying to catch the remaining pieces that were falling out of the sky. Some of the kids were climbing the fences that separated the yards in an effort to clean up the candy trail that led all the way to the roof two yards down.
I stood in proud silence, then turned to face my admiring gallery. "Towering" and "majestic" were the two words that most stood out, along with a lot of backslapping and high-fives. Grandma was grinning from ear to ear. "That’s just the way Killebrew used to hit ‘em back at the Met."
At the next year’s party, you could see the spots where some of the gum and Tootsie rolls melted onto that roof under the heat of the sun. Danny was by that time old enough to break his own piñata, but he requested that he have two, so I could break one, too. For years after, Danny’s parties were famous for the Smashing of the Pinatas.
1:34:15 PM 
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