With every Piñata I’ve ever destroyed, I first took a photograph of it, prior to the party.

These were Polaroid photos, so no store clerk developer had to know I took them. I wrote the names, ages and astrological signs of the Piñatas on the lower section of the photo and carefully affixed them into an unassuming album I keep near the bed.

Oh beat them I did, with total fury. When I was done most of the candy was inedible. Children’s tears flowed into a river.

But every night – even to this day – I take out the album. Turn page after page. And I apologize to each filthy Piñata. By name.

Forgive me.

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About Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.

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