Without the convenience of an illustration, I’m left without even the slightest inkling of the festivities’ specifics. Austin was one of my brother’s nursery school classmates, so we were celebrating his fourth birthday party. I can only assume it involved the basics: pizza, soda, and periodic shrieking.
Everyone knows an Austin. I mean, yes, it’s been one of the most popular boy’s names in America over the past two decades, but that’s not what I’m getting at. Our memories are stocked full of people who never actually grew up: the twins who moved away, the family friends who ended up in a different district, the other kids at the pool. Sure, you and your friends went to high school and grew beards, but that fifth-grader who mercilessly beat you all the time (on the basketball court) is still ten years old and endowed with terrifc man boobs.