The Last Birthday Party I Will Ever Have

I have spent weeks struggling to internally dissect these events. Events I have been burying for nearly 10 years. So how do I unearth a day so excruciating and humiliating. I could not even find a photo of myself from that night. A testament to how deep I embedded that memory. We must venture back into my adolescent mindset to tap into that night. Prepare yourself because it is an unsavory place to visit.

Why Was There A Party?

The celebration of ones’ 16th birthday was intensely glamorized and dramatized by MTV’s Super Sweet Sixteen show. I was obsessed. Without fail each episode I would be hysterically laughing, rolling in the tears of the spoiled teenagers. As much as I was entertained by the elaborate gifts, the controversy of who would or would not get an invite, and the celebrity performances I was not drawn to have my own party because of the show. I was, however, hypnotized by my sister’s tales about her house party Sweet Sixteen. It is easy to get transfixed on someone’s experiences and begin to harvest them as your own. I have always been a realist, but my momentary lapse of judgement led to this travesty.

The Concept

Old School vs. New School. There could not have been a more on-brand party theme for me than that one. I found Yo MTV Raps trade cards to give as party favors. I was going to bless my many guests with a chocolate bar with wrappings I personalized. The invitations were gray with a boombox dead center informing partygoers to choose a side between 2 eras. My intro was supposed to be part of the intro to Mona Lisa by Slick Rick and then mix right into the chorus of 3rd Bass’ Brooklyn-Queens.

Ladies and Gentleman, and lowlifes it is with outstanding pleasure that we are here to present tonight … Brooklyn Queens.

My hairstyle was reminiscent of Salt-N-Pepa and my doorknockers were rocking. All to declare which generation I was siding with. I felt sexy in my black denim halter jumpsuit. So proud of my outfit choice because it could not be lumped in the traditional category. My DJ was on point. The location was convenient for me and most of my proposed guests. The party food was picked.

The Issue

The problem with fashioning your decisions based on the prototype of another’s life is that your final product will always be incomplete. The designs came from the consciousness of another. My sister had an overflow of friends in Midwood High School, the apartment building my family used to live in, the neighborhood we had newly moved into at the time, church, etc. There were probably people who had met her the week before the party and were clawing for an invite. Fifteen years I was clamoring to harness her memories as my own. I went to Midwood High School and the congested halls clogged my vocal cords before I even entered the building. I had no friends there to speak of but there were a few people who shared some laughs with me. Five people from high school got the exclusive invitation. My 3 close friends from middle school. Then with unmonitored excitement I sent invites to people I was cool with in middle school who I had not seen or spoken to in over 2 years. Sending reminders about the party was a thought that never breached my fortress of party planning because how could anyone not prioritize this event.

The Tyson Knockout to My Self-Worth

The party started. My family was there. I was trying to get them to leave because this night was going to be epic, and I did not want them to intercept the legendary moments that were destined to unfold. The DJ had their equipment set up. Decorations were up, setting the intended vibe for the party. I was jittery, visualizing how the partygoers would hype up my entrance.

An hour: CRICKETS. THE LOUD ONES THAT ONLY INHABIT THE SOUTH AND ARE AS A BIG AS YOUR LONGEST FINGER.

2 hours: TEARS AS FURIOUS AND UNCONTROLLABLE AS THE MOST DANGEROUS RAPIDS.

The person I was closest to at Midwood was there to witness my breakdown. The extremity of my loser-dom was unveiled to my immediate family. Devastation is not the word. I was paralyzed by the depth of my isolation.

People finally started to come but my sadness stiffened my awkwardness into astronomical heights. At one point I recall, dancing with two guys simultaneously. Not in a way that could be mistaken for cool but in a manner so uncomfortable that eventually I just left the two of them dancing with each other. It is embarrassing but necessary to mention they were the only two males, I wasn’t related to, who actually attended the party (which was not my vision). I was shamefully and quite literally begging my few close friends from middle school to dance with me. They were glued to their seats and I do not blame them at all. The place was very empty, and they did not want to be the center of attention. My family stood strong with me though. Extended, immediate, and chosen family danced the whole night with me. I was beaming, willing myself to display my gratitude to my tribe before I even thought to give them that title.

My only male friend, who is not a blood relative, made sure he came to show me love. He ran in. I screamed. We embraced. We stumbled into a table. We danced to the final song. Loud. Unaware that anyone else was in the room. It was cinematic.

Such a natural high collapsed upon itself once everything was getting packed up. All the leftover food, Yo MTV Raps cards, and chocolate bars made me sick. I apologized to my parents for unnecessarily costing them money. Guilt plagues me every time I think of my 16th birthday. For years I felt so miniscule because that night did not look the way I thought it would. I thought it was the evidence my sub-conscious needed to prove that I was as unimportant as it had been proclaiming.

Before writing this, I assumed the confidence my adult experiences have given me had effectively pushed me past that pain. Seeing as though it took me over a month to write this, my emotional fortitude is not where I estimated it was.

In completing this tale though, I have been able to appreciate the highlights of that night. There were special moments that still make me smile. I am now determined to find my outfit to see if I can still fit it. I still have a whole lot of Yo MTV Raps cards that only I would’ve really cherished.

This piece also took me so long I wasn’t able to write about the cane I used in the 3rd and 4th grade, the throwing up in my first outing with new friends, the passing out at an amusement park, falling down a flight of stairs in front of strangers, my inability to enunciate the words “Action” and “Cut” while directing my own short film, singing “Before I Be A Slave” in an all-white church as a child, and the million other embarrassing events of my life. I say all of that to say, thank God for how traumatic that party was, or I would have been clinging to the floor under my bed after writing about all my other mishaps.