My Super Sweet 14

To help get me in the mood, I thought I would share the story of my 14th birthday - one of my most favorite (and infamous) birthday parties.

I grew up in a town that was 80% Jewish. Therefore, nearly everyone I knew got to have a big bar/bat mitzvah blowout to celebrate their 13th birthday. In some cases, morning temple services would give way to an elaborate brunch and live band, but most of the time we returned in the evening for some serious disc jockey action in the temple basement. The high rollers of junior high went event bigger: I attended full blown soirees at an upscale hotel in Boston, country clubs, and other venues that I see now were booked more to appease the parents' egos than celebrate the child's mitzvah. But no matter when or where, my seventh grade social life was packed with eager angst, every weekend an opportunity to slow dance or at least flaunt a new dress.

Since I was not a bat mitzvah, I leveraged my lack of religious upbringing to convince my mom that I should have a big 14th birthday. She agreed. (Guilt was also how I got my cat when I was seven. I played the "only child" card: But Mom, since I'm never going to have a brother or sister, don't you think I should at least be able to have a pet?!)

My mom agreed that yes, of course I should be able to have a big birthday. (I must have been really annoying that year.) The plan was set into motion. The party would be held in our backyard on the Saturday night of my birthday. We hired a DJ, rented a party tent like the one my parents had at their wedding, and had six-foot subs delivered to serve the approximately 75 or so people I was allowed to invite. I got my very first manicure the day of my party (fuscia pink) and wore a Vuarnet tank top with Z Cavaricci shorts. And Keds. It was 1990.

The day was sunny and quite warm for early June - perfect for an outdoor evening party. Judging from my eighth grade yearbook, I would guess about 75 people came. They ate, they drank (soda, of course), they danced the Roger Rabbit and Running Man to the cheesy DJ, and everyone seemed to have a good time. Until about an hour and a half into the party when this strange smell started taking over the backyard. And by strange I mean chokingly awful. The sewer system chose, at that moment, to overflow, quickly turning the lawn/our dance floor into mud and radiating a raw, rancid, sewer-y stench.

To get away from the smell - and the mosquitoes, which had also just started to appear - everyone piled inside our family room. Which was really small and had no air conditioning. Seventy-five people sat on the floor, wiping their brows, looking at each other like, Are you kidding me?

In eighth grade, it's not like there's anything else to do on a Saturday night, so people stayed. But they stayed and complained and rolled their eyes. And the funny thing is, I don't even remember being all that embarrassed. It was still the best party of the year. I had no competition.