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.

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.

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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