Piñata

Every year when I was little, there were three things for which my mother would obediently follow my whims. One was the style of my Halloween costume, one was the shape of my birthday cake, and one was the shape of my birthday piñata. If you’re not sure what a piñata is, it will become clear.

My mother probably relied on a certain level of consideration on my part where all three wishes were concerned, and I always complied by choosing an innocuous animal of some kind. I certainly relied on her generous nature. The birth of each one was an intense and exciting collaboration, whereby I would make a mess, and she would fix it while finding some way of making me feel I had done most of the work. The piñata was my absolute favourite thing, and by far the messiest. Papier mâché seemed like magic. It was beyond me how something as fragile as a blown up balloon covered in something as soppy as flour and wet newspaper, could create such a robust head on which to stick a snout, or beak, or ears. It seemed patience was the main transforming ingredient. I can’t remember how we did the body, but there was chicken wire involved, probably cardboard tubes for legs, and an awful lot of newspaper. We’d spend days cutting strips of coloured tissue for feathers, or scales, or fur, as befitted the species, though the colour was as outrageously unlike that of the original beast as possible. I was always asked to leave the room for the stuffing of its belly; to this day I don’t know how it’s done. I imagine my mother delighted in her clandestine gathering of the bright sweets and tacky little plastic toys that children love, and then hiding them inside our transient creation.

Where there’s a piñata, there needs to be a baseball bat. I had a thing about baseball when I was about six, so my bat was excellent. When I saw anyone playing baseball, a spontaneous riveted fascination came over me - as well as envy - and I have no idea what inspired it. Eventually my mother found a softball team that would take me. I had almost no idea what was going on in a game most of the time, but I was very happy about it all.

So yes, I had a bat, and lots of willing friends, and a beautiful piñata hanging from a tree. Everyone wants to have a go at giving the piñata their heftiest slug - if they can find it having been spun round a couple of times in a blindfold. It’s a good idea to have a lot of friends around, partly so they can call directions. They don’t want to get too close and get clobbered, but neither do they want to be far away in case your heftiest slug is the one that releases the treasure. If it is the one... you don’t mind about the fact that you’re dizzy, and you can’t see, and your hands sting from whacking something heavy with a bat. For that moment you’re the hero that brought your friends what they were waiting for. It’s all a big joyous clamour. Then perhaps you remember that it wouldn’t have been so easy had they not taken turns to make huge dents in it - yours just happened to be that one that broke through. By then you’re too busy getting the blindfold off and joining the scrum on the grass for the first downpour. Then it’s time to hand over the bat to whoever’s eager to take aim for the next haul of sugar and plastic.

I think it’ll be more fun if you draw your own life analogies. With a bit of imagination you might find one or two in there.

Sumangali Morhall
March 2005