Five year olds don’t wield very much power. There is little they can do to rage against a world filled with bedtimes and teeth brushing and interrupted games. Which is why I have been uninvited to the Bean’s birthday party six times.
When the Bean gets angry, I mean really, really angry, his face becomes flushed and he’ll invade my personal space and in the most sincere tone will come the fateful words, “You are not invited to my birthday party!”
I try not to laugh, for doing so would belittle his feelings. But it’s hard not to break under such intensity. I try to tell him that without me, there would be no birthday party. But it’s hard enough to explain the concept of earning money to a young kid—especially one in the throws of a tantrum over having to put their toys away before bed.
The birthday party remained the one trump card in the Bean’s otherwise small deck. Until the day after his birthday party, when the Bean discovered that he no longer could use this power.
It’s tough to be a kid.