This is what a 13 year-old looks like at his birthday party when the only other party-goers are his family members, ie. mother, father, sister, brothers, grandparents, uncle.
You get more loot when you’re smiley and cute at these functions.
I wish I could show you a picture of how the same 13 year-old poses when his party is being attended by other 13 year-olds.
I can’t though because the 13 year-old would not allow for pictures to be taken.
Apparently posing with your buddies while smiling is completely unacceptable.
It’s not “cool”.
Why is that not cool?
Or better yet, when did I stop being cool?
I used to be cool.
I’m pretty sure I was very cool.
As a matter of fact, on most days I think of myself as cooler than the average iceberg…
…ok, that…that last statement is probably the reason I am no longer cool. Using the words ‘cooler’ and ‘iceberg’ in the same sentence probably exempt me from the Cool Club.
Using ’Cool Club’ would do the job.
I think I started off the night as being considered relatively cool.
The boys arrived at the party.
I tell them, “Go into the living room where the XBox 360 is set up on the big screen. The pizza will be here shortly.”
While I’m waiting for the pizza to arrive, I’m putting out bowls of chips and plates of cookies.
The teenagers lunge into the junk food.
I say, “You guys need to wash your hands. This is how disease is spread. Did you know that Hepatitis A is spread through the fecal/oral route?”
Friends freeze in their tracks, their potentially fecally infected hands looming above the treats.
Son lets out a low groan.
I am no longer cool.
I walk into the living room with eight boxes of meat and cheese pizzas.
I place the boxes on the table before them. And as they rip through the boxes to get at the food inside, I do not make any reference whatsoever to Hepatitis A or human excrement.
Son gives me surreptitious smile.
I’m cool again.
At one point, the boys are all huddled around someone’s iPod, intently watching something.
I walk towards them, loom over their shoulders, and ask, “Are you guys surfing porn?”
The looks on their faces, and the mocking laughter clearly spells out: Not only are you not cool, you’re a big fucken loser.
At this point, realizing my faux-pas, I’m just grateful they aren’t giving my kid a wedgie and leaving the party.
It’s cake time.
I love cake time!
The candles, the singing, the ceremony of cutting and serving the first piece of cake.
Whose gonna want the biggest piece? Whose gonna fight for the buttercream flowers?
I come out of the kitchen, candles burning, set the cake on the dining room table, and yell out, “Come on boys, it’s time for cake.”
Nobody moves. Nobody even turns from the XBox and the iPod (where I’m pretty sure they were surfing porn, thank you very much, I’m not a fucken idiot!)
“Heeeellooo!” I sing in my opera voice.
This time the boys do turn around.
Good. I’ve got their attention at least, so I launch into, “Happy birthday to yoooou! Happy birthday to yoooouuu! Happy birthday dear…come on guys, sing it with me…dear Jaaaaaacksoooon!”
They’re looking at me like I’ve sprouted another head.
Actually, that’s not even true. I think there would have been more enthusiasm in their eyes if I had indeed sprouted another head.
My son, Jackson, is holding his head between his hands.
I’ve definitely been bumped from the Cool Train.
The party continues for a couple more hours, at which time I avoid being in the same room as the teens.
I pop in long enough to refill drinks, the chip bowls, and the cookie platter.
So I’m not the coolest in the world, but the “Happy Birthday” fiasco seems to have been forgotten and/or forgiven.
Suddenly, from the living room, I hear their voices (their horrible horrible voices!) singing karaoke.
Who knew XBox 360 has an “American Idol” game.
I fly into the living room, and ask, “Mind if I play?”
Nails on a chalk board.
Record player needle scratching across the vinyl.
Not only am I not cool. But my son runs to get my husband, who comes in, takes me by the shoulders, and walks me out of the living room.
He sits me down beside him where he’s watching hockey, and says, “Why don’t you cheer for Toronto instead. That would be really cool.”