Renegade Birthdays

Dot had plans to attend a co-ed laser tag birthday party tomorrow. I dread birthday parties because they mean that I have to call (or even worse, talk face to face) the party hosting parents to make arrangements and make sure they're not a crackhead. The same dread applies to sleepovers and playdates.

I hate other parents.

I called the party hosting mother, a perfectly pleasant woman, though a little lacking in planning skills. She told me the party had been postponed. It seems that her son was told he could not have his party until he turned in his science fair project. He still has not turned his project in, but did not tell his guests that the party would not be happening.

It reminded me of my twelfth birthday party.

My parents told me that I could not have a party. I believed then, as I still do, that it was to torture me. My parents didn't like me very much.

I begged for weeks, and my parents were unrelenting.

"You're not having a gawd-damn birthday party, now stop asking!"

"Please mom!"

"No!"

I told my friends that I was having a party anyway. I invited four girls, and told them we would be going to Chuck E. Cheese and renting Dirty Dancing. We talked about it for weeks, making elaborate plans to play dress up and cake make-up on our baby faces, all the while, I'm in a complete panic. I wasn't sure how I was going to explain the party to my parents, and went over all the possibilites in my mind.

In the end, I went with the plan I liked to call, "aww, fuck it". I knew my mom would never make a scene in front of my friends, so I decided to force her into giving me a birthday party, and incur her wrath when it was over.

When my parents got home from work on the day of my renegade party, they were shocked to find a living room full of giggling twelve year olds.

"Rebel, could you come with me into your bedroom," Mom asked.

I followed her into my bedroom and she closed the door behind us.

"What in the hell are they doing here," she hissed.

"It's my birthday party. I told them we're going to Chuck E. Cheese, and that you would take us to Blockbuster to rent Dirty Dancing."

"Have you lost your fucking mind? I told you no party."

"I wanted a party."

"You'll have your party all right. Help me shove all the shit in your floor into the closet, and you DO NOT open this closet door until your friends leave. This is filthy."

My room was filthy in the way that only a kid's room can be. She had been nagging me to clean it for months, but I hid in the closet and read books by flashlight instead. I didn't even bother to clean it up for the party, because, "aww, fuck it".

After we cleared my bedroom floor and presented the illusion of clean, mom took us all to Chuck E. Cheese. I ran and giggled and played Skee-Ball with my friends while my mom stood in the corner and did her best to burn holes in my soul with her glare.
When we ran out of tokens, we redeemed our tickets for an inflatable crayon.

Dirty Dancing was all checked out when we got to the video store, so we got a scary movie instead. We stayed up until 5 am, laughing and acting dumb.

My mom had to take them all home the next day (I had volunteered her). I remember being yelled at, and I'd imagine that I was grounded for a very long time, but I can't remember the punishment, just the party. I guess that means it was worth it.