We threw a keg party for our oldest little dude’s first birthday.
I mention this not to subject myself to abuse, although I have a feeling that’s just what I’ve done.
No, the reason I mentioned it was as a way to continue the discussion about memory and youth. On Monday, I talked about how I should have saved a lot of money by not taking the young dudes to Walt Disney World until they were old enough to actually remember going.
Here’s the thing: I can’t tell you the number of first-birthday parties to which I’ve gone that were complete wastes of time, energy and cake.
There is no way that a one-year-old little dude or dudette is going to be participating much in the festivities, unless there’s a drool off at some point, much less remember it with fondness later.
A lot of parents seem to forget that their adorable little spawn-of-their-loins doesn’t have an actual brain at one year, nor much control over their muscles (not to mention bowels).
Unless you’re desperately short on cute onesies, then, what’s the point of throwing a huge, big-time party for a one-year-old little dude?
The answer to that question is staring you right in the face. Well, it is provided you’re standing in front of a mirror and looking at it.
It’s you, dudes. You parents are the reason for the party.
No kid will ever remember nor appreciate the party you throw for them. Considering we didn’t remember this when it was time to force Walt Disney World on ourselves, it’s a miracle we remembered this little tidbit.
My wife, known to many as She Who Must Be In Charge Of Every Little Party Detail Or Else, and I quickly realized that every first-birthday-party was, in fact, for the parents. So we decided, if that was the case (and it is), then let’s really make it for the parents.
Which brings us to the keg party.
Before the actual party began, we had a little celebration with the proto-Sarcasmo involving cake he could barely eat, candles he couldn’t blow out and presents he didn’t understand. But mostly it was about pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.
Then we cleaned up the mess and got to the fun. We held the keg party to celebrate the fact that we’d managed to procreate and had kept the resulting mass of replicating protoplasm alive, functional and cute as all get out for one complete revolution around the sun.
We invited friends, family and, for one rather fuzzy moment, the mail carrier on his appointed rounds.
A good time was had by all.
Although, now that I think about it, I’m not sure we really achieved anything different by holding an adult party instead of hosting a party for a young dude who wouldn’t remember the party.
Considering the number of kegs we upended that day, it’s a cause for another celebration that anyone remembers any of the party at all.
Although I’m sure it was fun. At least, so I’m told.Share on Facebook