20/20 Gonzo 36: Purple Punch

Reminds me of the time my youngest daughter turned 7, hosted a backyard costume party (Her birthday is October 25th).  A Halloween tune-up, the entire soccer team, schoolmates, neighbors, family members.  Lots of Princesses, some female superheroes, a few Star Wars characters, robots, couple of hippies, a box of macaroni and cheese, and one red devil.  I dressed as a butler, or a roadie, I don't remember.  Tension and anticipation ran high, lots of attention was being paid to the birthday girl, she was being showered with praise.

She was about to take the microphone.  Had set up my PA and created a stage on the backyard deck.  Jam out, get the iPods hooked up.  Sing girls, sing!  It was gonna be great, she had been practicing, some Jonas Brothers, some Hanna Montana, some Emma Lou Harris.

But the big ole gal jumped up and grabbed the microphone, and she wasn't giving it up once the actual show started, the one the birthday girl was supposed to kick off.  In fact, when my sweet, sweet little baby girl got on the stage and went for it, that big ole gal, her soccer teammate, the worst player on the team by far, whacked her on the forehead with the microphone causing a wafflelike mark on her that took two weeks to disappear.  Shocked, and in pain, she ripped it from her, hit the tunes, wailed her set like a rockstar, dropped the mic, slammed a full glass of purple punch, blew out all her candles without flinching, thanked every guest with a goodie bag, and banked on presents.  She never cried, she never shed a tear, she didn't even care.