I don’t know where it began, but I can surmise it happened with one neurotic mother.
“Oh no!” She thought. “The other children at little Billy’s birthday party will be sad that they too, did not get a present!”
So she went out to the local dollar store, filled a bag with breakable, made-in-china cheap crap, and handed it out after Billy’s party. The other Moms smiled, told their kid to say thank you, and thought,
“What the hell is this crap for? A parachute man that doesn’t work, a wonky bouncy ball?”
But somehow, they felt compelled to do the same. And now, thankyouverymuchstupidBilly’smother, we all do it.
Back in my day (insert picture of pinched, old-person face here) you went to a birthday party. After your parents fled, you and ten others played games, destroyed some kid’s rec-room, opened presents and ate cake. If you were lucky, you got a balloon. But you were happy, because you just got to create general mayhem at ear-splitting volume, and you got CAKE. No one ever felt left out, or like they were going home empty handed. After all, it wasn’t our birthday, why should we be getting presents?
But now all kids EXPECT this bag of crap.
I did an experiment, hoping to break the need to buy shit the parents don’t want and the kids don’t really care about. My son had a birthday coming up, and we were busy packing, so I threw money at the problem and outsourced the party to a local art studio. I thought, “I’ll get each kid a small canvas to bring home instead of a goody bag, and they can bring home art!” Congratulating myself on this brilliance I ran it by my kid, putting on the best, fake smile I could muster.
“Um, okay,” he said, looking unsure, but trusting me.
The party was a blast, messy and loud and conveniently elsewhere. We opened presents, ate our cake, and then came the moment of truth.
“Instead of goody bags,” I announce, “We are going to each bring home the small canvas you made, so you can hang them in your house!”
I looked around the room. Smiles froze; you could hear crickets chirp. My son looked anxiously from face to face. But I smiled anyway, now commencing Plan B.
“AND, you all get a spider man gummy bag!”
“Yeaaaaayyyyy!” They cheered, as if I had just told them they were going to Disneyland. The Birthday boy gave me a relieved grin. Mom had come through.
I learned my lesson. We are working our way toward the birthday gift “donation,” and so far I still capitulate on the goody bag, a little. I can try to change the norm, but not at the expense of my son’s feelings. And I always pack emergency gummies, for approximately eleven.