Recently at Charlie and Georgie’s party I witnessed total, unbridled heartbreak. It was horrible to see but I sensed right away I had an opportunity to stop this moment destroying a young boys life. At birthday parties some children are more understanding than others when it comes to the birthday child. I do get other volunteers up but it is predominantly the birthday child who helps and becomes a star. They’ll often be one of their friends having a little moan, “It’s not fair Mr Banana Head, how comes Jack gets to help with everything?” “Well, it is his birthday and his parents are paying me so go away and bitch to someone else.” Just to clarify in case you’re reading this horrified, I don’t really say anything there past, “It is his birthday.” What do you think I am, a monster??
What makes me laugh is when the person that complains has already been a helper themselves. I am often tempted to tell the moaners to invite me to their next party so they can help with everything. I don’t though, I can’t imagine anything worse than them running to their parent begging them to book me and:
1. They’ve already booked someone else.
2. The parents aren’t fans of my Kate Bush impression and would rather book a spoon to entertain their child.
3. Their parents are Himalayan Yaks. That would just be awkward.
Anyway, back to Charlie and Georgie’s party. I’d just finished the first hour and given Charlie and Georgie their certificates. For those that don’t know, I make up personalised certificates for the birthday child with pictures of all their favourite films, programmes etc. Charlie’s one had amongst other things a picture of Team Umizoomi. As the children go off to eat I see a boy and his dad coming towards me. The boy is sobbing and I mean sobbing. Head shaking, lip quivering, the lot. Just picture the world sobbing championships. Now imagine the quality and quantity of sobbing the winner would have done. This was Billy.
“Go on Billy, ask him,” said his dad. I genuinely had no idea what the next words out of Billy’s mouth were going to be. Maybe he was going to ask why my face was so scary as it had made him cry. Seriously, I was clueless. “Mr Banana Head”, he managed between ever increasing sobs, “Charlie got a certificate and it had Team Umizoomi on. I love Team Umizoomi, why can’t I have one?” My heart melted for him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a child so upset. I explained that Charlie got one as it was his birthday. I asked if he had had a party before and he said yes. I asked if he got anything special because it was his party. As luck would have it (for me) he’d had an entertainer that gave him a certificate. Not as cool as mine obviously but I didn’t say that. I didn’t get the entertainer’s name so lets just call him Mr Turkey Chops.
“Wow, you got a certificate from Mr Turkey Chops, you’re so lucky. I’ve always wanted one of his certificates. Have you still got it and are you going to keep it forever?” Yes to both was the answer. I asked him to describe the certificate and by now the sobbing was just a wimper and I could see the relief etched on his dad’s face. I then started calling him silly names and he was now smiling and laughing. I finished with, “I still can’t believe you got a certificate from Mr Turkey Chops, that’s amazing.” Off he went to have some lunch and I got ready for the games.
Thinking back, (way back) to my youth, if a birthday child was given something with Kate Bush, Michael Jackson or Adam Ant on I’d have wanted it too. I can’t really blame Billy, he just loved Umizoomi. Saying that however and I’m not judging here, I really don’t think it’s worth all the sobbing he had to go through. If it had been Phineas and Ferb, Scooby Doo or Barbie Dream House then fair enough. All top class shows for children and funny with it.
Anyway, hopefully I helped stop Billy’s life disintegrate into a series of disappointments and sobs. Billy, if you’re listening I’ll happily come to your party and give you a certificate with pictures of Team Umizoomi all over it. That’s if your parents aren’t yaks. If they are, I’m out.
Until next time.
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