Most of us have attended a toddler's birthday party, and we all know that at that age, they tend to cry over everything. This story is exactly about that.
We had returned from the Cross of Motupe for two important reasons. First, my grandmother had come from Lima to meet my grandfather, who was visiting. She hadn't been able to join him earlier because of a doctor's appointment.
(My grandmother suffered from cancer. Lima was the only place with specialists capable of treating her illness. Although she used to live in Chiclayo, she had to move there. She lived in a remote area of Ancón, right by the toll booth—a place with few cars and little pollution. If she had stayed in the city center, the smog would have made her even sicker).
Back then, being just a child, I didn't know any of this. My parents preferred not to tell me, but I always noticed that my grandmother grew tired faster than others. That made me instinctively want to help her, never knowing the true reason behind her exhaustion.
The second reason for our return was my younger brother Luka's birthday. Being the youngest, at just five years old, he was the most spoiled one in the house. For his party, he asked for everything: a piñata, candy, cake, and for all his school friends to be invited. However, my brother Peter, with his usual cunning, intercepted him:
"Mom! I want candy, cake, and a party with all my friends!" Luka exclaimed excitedly. "Hold on there!" Peter interrupted. "Friends? What for? It's better to have all the candy and cake for yourself than to get just a tiny sliver at the end." "He's right," I added, supporting the idea. "More for us!"
Luka went silent for a moment, thinking it over. "I think they're right," he finally conceded. "Are you sure, Luka? No friends?" my parents asked. "Yes, no friends. But can we still have a piñata?" "Of course!"
The next day, my parents prepared everything. They bought the cake, the candy, and several plastic toys to fill the piñata faster. In the middle of the preparations, they got a call: my grandmother had arrived. They went to pick her up, and a few hours later, my grandfather arrived from Motupe as well. He had stayed a few extra days working in scrap metal, but upon hearing about the birthday, he decided to come.
The party started with snacks and drinks, but the most anticipated moment was the piñata. Luka was ready, his eyes wide open, waiting to catch everything. When the piñata finally broke, Luka dove to the floor to gather the candy, but Peter was faster: he stretched out his long arms and, in one swift move, scooped up almost the entire loot.
Seeing his hands empty, Luka burst into tears. He only calmed down when we handed him the candy. In the end, we all finished laughing because, in his desperation, Luka hadn't grabbed chocolates—he had grabbed the plastic toys.
While we ate the cake, my grandfather walked into the living room with a nostalgic smile and began telling stories from when I was little.
"My Angelo..." my grandfather said. "An angel fallen from heaven. So quiet he doesn't bother anyone."
(Back then, they called me 'quedado' or quiet, though nowadays, people would say I was very introverted).
"Oh, Dad!" my mother laughed. "Don't you remember when he tore your clothes four years ago?" "That's true, you're right," the grandfather nodded. "Wait, what happened?" I asked, curious. "Tell us, Grandpa!" Luka pleaded.
Grandpa settled into his chair and began the tale:
"I had gone to the Inkas Market, and you stayed behind with Luka. The others were at school, your father was working, and your mother was on the second floor. Then, you went up to the third floor and entered my room. You saw I had a new radio with many buttons and started messing with it until they all popped off. Then you grabbed my cassette tapes and, as you pulled, the whole reel came out. To 'fix' it, you grabbed scissors and cut all my music tapes. Luckily, it was only those, because the preacher tapes were much better. Just then, I walked in and found you."
"'What have you done, you brat?!' I yelled at the time." "'Grandpa, you're back,' you replied with the most natural face in the world." "Anyway..." my grandfather concluded through laughter. "I could only say: 'Come on, let's go eat, it's lunchtime. Next time, I'm putting a lock on that door.'"
We all let out a roar of laughter. "I have a better one!" my mother exclaimed. "Wait, I have one more!" my grandfather interrupted. "We were at your aunt's house. Angelo was playing inside and Peter was outside. Suddenly, we heard the sound of something breaking. Turns out Angelo had stood on top of a bucket and ended up splitting it. When we went to see what happened, Angelo looked at us very seriously and said: 'It wasn't me, it was Grandpa.'"
Laughter erupted in the room again. Of course, my punishment that day was to fold all my clothes.
"Now it's my turn," my mother said, catching her breath. "This one is about Peter. Once, he soiled his underwear and, to hide it so he wouldn't have to wash it right then, he had the brilliant idea of stuffing it under his grandfather's bed. Months went by... One day, my dad came home tired from work and, as he walked into his room, he started sniffing the air."
"'Phew! Something smells rotten... What is that? Maybe a dead rat,' my father said."
"Your grandfather searched the whole room: the floor, the closet, under the bed... Until he reached the sheets. He started stripping the bed and, by chance, lifted the pillows. And there they were! The rotting underwear. Your grandfather's scream was heard across the whole block: 'A-A-A! WHAT IS ALL THIS?!' We ran to see what was happening and, seeing the scene, we couldn't stop laughing, even though we scolded Peter for leaving his clothes wherever he pleased. As a punishment, he had to wash them, but the smell was so strong he ended up saying: 'Just throw them in the trash.' And so we did."
"But I still have one more story about Angelo..." my mother continued with a mischievous glint in her eyes.