Lion and Magic Boy

All this birthday talk. Or maybe it was watching “Neverending Story” tonight, which brought me back to like 22 again, which somehow translated into being 7. I don’t know, but I recalled the birthday party I had that year. Which was so memorable that I never had another.

The big thing at the party was going to be the giant balloons. Giant balloons that you could sit on and bounce. At least, this was my idea, my vision. But it was to be the highlight of the party, bigger even than the miniature golfing. And the Shasta black cherry cola.

I think maybe 5 or 6 other girls came. Or maybe there were boysthere too; it’s all a little hazy. There was probably food. And my dad likely disappeared for the afternoon, leaving my mom to seem unnaturally convivial, jovial even, not that she was usually morose or anything, but there was definitely a heartier-than-usual “company face” that she donned for occasions like that which were fortunately infrequent. Which I am afraid may be a genetic trait.

The balloons were quickly abandoned. They were difficult to blow up and didn’t become nearly the size required, plus, hello, they were balloons? Not so hot for bouncing on.

My dream shattered, I couldn’t wait for everyone to leave. And never found it desirable to have another party.

Though if I could get one of those really big balls with a handle? For bouncing on?  Or, like, 20 of them?  I might change my mind.