Raising losers

I love helping out with school holiday parties. It lets me witness the kids in their natural habitat. Not surprisingly, they behave just like wild animals do when not in the captivity of their own home. Literally, at one point, Madan was crawling around the listening rug on all fours acting like a cat with a friend.

To Madan's dismay, I coordinated his classroom party yesterday. It's not that he minds me helping out or interacting with his friends. He simply hates when I run the show.

"Okay everyone! It's time to play pass the cauldron!" I was swinging a plastic pot filled with Oriental Trading loot in front of the crowd of costumed bodies. In retrospect, I'm surprised I wasn't tackled instantly by 24 kids half my weight. I queued up the iPod. "Da da da" started playing. The pot o' goodies started making the rounds.

I stopped the music. A child dressed as Groucho Marx closed his eyes, reached into the abyss, pulled out a tchotchke and ran away to examine his bounty. The music started up again. Suddenly, a princess was out, then a pirate, then a peacock, then a storm trooper. With each pause of the play button, the circle shrunk. Excitement grew. Madan was bouncing on his knees hoping to be the last kid sitting. Then, the cauldron was in his hands. I shot the Mom next to me a guilty look. "I have to do it, I whispered, "As painful as this is for me, there's no nepotism in school parties." I killed the music -- and Madan's good time.

"MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!?!?" My son gave me the evil eye, yanked a yo-yo from the pot and left the circle to storm the craft table SWAT-style.

Madan, I'm terribly sorry, really. But when I run the show, you can never win.