Two Birthday Gifts Enter. One Birthday Gift Leaves. (Patreon)

Last month when discussing the definitive impact my late mother had on my idea of what a birthday celebration should be, I mentioned that my mother made pinatas for my birthday. While I don't know it for certain, I strongly suspect her years spent in South America as a child exposed her to that specific form of celebration, though obviously people use pinatas in the US as well.

My sister read that piece and, being a sweet and intelligent woman, decided to get me a pinata for my birthday. It was a lovely surprise to be given a ginormous hollow cupcake filled with candy... and toys for the cats. It took me a couple of weeks to get around to smashing it open, but this past Saturday my game group wrapped up our Pathfinder 1e game early, so we decided to take a crack at the kinetically-accessed-candy-cache.

But what to hit it with?

My step-father got me a tactical walking stick for my birthday. It is in many ways the perfect gift--something I am thrilled to own, that I would never buy for myself. It's a series of interchangeable hollow rods (proudly made of 'aircraft grade aluminum'), each with a specific survival tool stored within. Three different spearheads, fire stick, compass... no flashlight though, which seems a significant oversight to me. But as much fun as the thing is, it's heavier than I'd be likely to take on a hike, or even a walk. I can see it as something I pack if I went to a cabin, maybe, as an emergency tool. But otherwise, when am I EVER going to need a length of aircraft-grade aluminum in the form of a long bludgeoning object?

I am sure you all see where this is going.

So, we hung the pinata from the roof of the car port. We set up a tarp under it, because who wants candy covered in dirt and dead leaves? -- The answer, in case you are wondering, is most children ages 12 and under. My mother never worried about a tarp. When my friends and I shattered paper-mache dragons and castles and swords at my childhood birthday parties, we leaped on the sugar-coated guts as they were splattered across the yard. Piles of kids flung themselves on the densest spots of candy, but even lone caramels that fell down ant holes and got covered in larva and sticks were dug out by that pubescent mob of sugar-rushing barbarians.

But this is my 55th birthday. I'm more mature now, and know an ounce of preparation saves a pound of candy.

Because I was the youngest person present, I declared we were using 'Old People Pinata Rules.' No blindfolds. No being spun around 3 times. No jerking the pinata up and down on the rope or swinging it so it might hit someone in the face. In fact, nothing that would sound stupid if we had to explain it to an ambulance driver after breaking a hip. We'd each take one swing at the pinata with the tactical war stick, and then go round-robin until it cracked open and spilled its type-2-diabetes-causing-core.

As Birthday 'Boy,' I got to go first. I lined up my shot, swung the 4-foot flashlightless aluminum staff of seven parts...

And decapitated the cupcake pinata.

One whack. POP. The bottom was SLICED neatly from the top. Candy (mostly taffy, a very cost-efficient-per-cubic-inch candy for pinata innards) splayed far and wide... on the tarp. Decapinata. We all stared for a second. My mother's pinatas were designed to survive a dozen 11-year olds going all Braveheart on it. My wife made ones she knew 30-year olds, some with actual combat training, would go at with baseball bats and, if needed, real swords. They were things of structural reinforcement as much as aesthetic appearance.

This was, quite reasonably, a store-bought candy bag. It was NOT designed to face walking sticks containing 3 different spearheads, in the hands of veterans of a thousand pinata wars. When faced with such overpowering force... it 'sploded.

Then we all laughed. It was awesome. The last thing people in their '50 and '60s want to do is wait around for sugary gratification. The ritual was fulfilled. The rules had been followed. Now we had plenty of taffy to ruin our dinners. Which, at our age, was 2-3 pieces each, tops.

Oh, and the cats loved the cat toys. It took them a grand total of 7 minutes to lose all of them, but it was an ENERGETIC 7 minutes.

Good birthday.