Whose Birthday Is It, Anyway?

In “A Nice Place to Visit” from the inaugural season of “The Twilight Zone,” Sebastien Cabot welcomes Mr. Valentine, a recently deceased criminal, to a posh hotel suite. “My job is to see you get what you want, whatever it may be,” says the impeccable Cabot who goes on to supply gourmet meals, attractive young women, liquor, and skeins of hundred dollar bills. Mr. Valentine, who killed a little dog and organized street gangs as a child, is surprised; he believes that he must have “done something good to make up for all the bad stuff” to have arrived in heaven. Indeed, every bet he makes at roulette wins; every coin in the slot machine hits the jackpot; every woman to whom he speaks wants to be with him.

“We’ll return to Mr. Valentine in a moment,” as Rod Sterling might have put it, but first let me take you through another “third door on the left”, this one leading to a birthday party for a six year-old. In the shadow of multiple bounce houses, a train runs around the perimeter of the house and grounds. There are immaculately costumed characters performing skits and interacting with the hordes of feral preschoolers. Photographers and mimosas abound. The five year-old object of this white-hot spot light stands terrified at the top of a stairway, alternatively shrieking or mute, wishing she were somewhere else or—preferably—someone else. “Look how I sacrifice” intones her miffed parent. “I do so much for this child but she is ungrateful. Why won’t she stop crying? Why is she always so sad? Does she not even know how much those clowns cost?”

What would this first grader have preferred rather than this media event masquerading as a birthday party? Toddlers want to bang on a pot with a spoon while their parents do stuff in the kitchen. Elementary school age children want to crack eggs and use the measuring cups to make brownies. How could any parent believe that this expensive, soul denying event has anything to do with the developmental needs of the child? To repeat: a birthday party for a six year-old should involve half a dozen other six year-olds and, perhaps, an art project. A twenty-foot roll of paper and some water colors should do nicely.

But back to the madness. Fast forward five years. At this birthday party a DJ—one of four at the event at the country club—instructs the pre-pubescent girls to line up on the dance floor. Shouting over the numbing bass music, the DJ then coaches the young boys to line up anonymously behind the little girls and grind their pelvises into the butts of the girls in front of them.

What are the parents thinking? Why did they set up this offensive event? Where will it all end? What is the next logical step? If you go to Dandy Bear in a limo for your seventh birthday and to Europe with a dozen of your closest friends for your fifteenth, what is left to celebrate your 18th year? Are catered trips to Mars with a hot tub and designer drugs next on the agenda? Children appreciate relational. They want to direct their own story, not to appear as a bit player in your movie.

Let’s return to the 1960 TV show: “Anything you say, Sir” says Cabot.

“But when you win every time that ain’t gambling, it’s charity,” complains Valentine.

A pool table appears, the balls impeccable racked. Excitedly, Valentine hits the cue ball only to be disgusted when—improbably—all 15 balls drop into the pockets.

“Is something wrong?” asks Cabot.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” replies Valentine.

“But I don’t understand, Sir.”

“All right, I’ll spell it out for ya, Fats. I’m bored, bored. There’s no excitement over here, no kicks.”

““I thought you liked gambling.”

“It don’t mean anything if it’s all set up in advance… And the dames. I never thought I’d get bored with beautiful dames.”

Valentine has an idea. He determines that he’d prefer to be in “the other place.”

“Just between you and me, Fats, I don’t think I belong here. I don’t think I fit it.”

“Oh, nonsense, of course you do.”

“Look, I don’t belong in heaven, see? I wanna go to the other place.”

“Heaven,” replies Cabot. “Whatever gave you the idea that you were in heaven, Mr. Valentine? This IS the other place.”

And the trombone music swells as Valentine, unable to open the door, realizes where he is. Cabot’s maniacal laughter gives way to the Twilight theme music.

I’ll let Rod Sterling’s narration spell it out for you, “Now he’s got everything he ever wanted. And he’s going to have to live with it for all eternity. In the twilight zone.”

Your children aren’t criminals. Don’t punish them by giving them that which they don’t want. Let them make their own meaning in a world whose boundaries they can understand and appreciate. An adolescent who works an after school job to buy a bicycle will appreciate the ten-speed more than a kid who is given an expensive new car. Allow your children to earn the things they want. Reward them by fulfilling their needs, but not giving in to their wants. In the meantime, don’t even pretend that these over-the-top parties have anything to do with what is in the long term best interests of the birthday girl.