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I had my 12th birthday at a bowling alley. I was embarassed at the fact that the alley didn't have computerized score-keepers and that you had to enter in your score by hand. With pencil. But the 30 people I invited didn't seem to care. It was half my sixth grade class. Fantastic. I invited boys and girls I said, maybe, a sentence to when I saw them. Mere acquaintances. I knew immediately I would be barraged with gifts. The party was a really good turnout: everyone showed up and had a great time. The night even ended with a sleepover, including, like, 7 guys at my house. I got a sweet new skateboard deck, and a whole lot of cash. One of the most memorable moments of the party was when I was sitting behind the line, waiting for my turn to bowl, and Max Arons came up to me to give me my birthday present. It was an envelope containing twenty dollars. After I thanked him for the generous gift he said "You know what? Here, happy birthday, man," and gave me another twenty dollars that he pulled out of his pocket. I didn't know what to say but "thank you" again. My heart skipped a beat as I realized I had just accumulated forty dollars from one person. I felt like screaming and throwing a bowling ball down the alley right then and there, out of turn and lacking concentration. I probably should have given Max a huge hug, but that was gay in the 6th grade and I couldn't afford to be gay at my own birthday party. I'm sure he knew by my shocked face that if the circumstances weren't what they were, I would've given him one.

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