I grabbed my own share of the loot, but not before admiring my handiwork, a smashed figurine swinging aloft in the tree. The back legs of the little paper animal dangled loosely in the night air, the donkey body was broken in two and a half dozen kids dashed in quickly for the victory spoils, filling their pockets and mouths with candies plucked from the ground. I suspect the other kids knew of the labor involved, merely wanting to get first jump on grabbing the candies spilled forth from the belly of the beast. Since it was my birthday, the adults allowed me the honor of single-handedly bringing down the fiesta filly. Trust me, piñatas do not give up their cache of candy without making you earn it. I remember the sound of impact, and was surprised by how hard the little papier-mâché donkey truly was. I connected, but with only a glancing blow across the steed’s hindquarters. Steeling my resolve, I lifted the stick, cocked it hard behind me, and swung in the general direction of the brightly colored, maned candy vault. Although I couldn’t see it, blindfolded as I was, I had taken the measure of my colorful foe only a moment earlier. As I gripped that hard stick in the humid summer night air, felt the tightness of the bandanna across my eyes, I remember voices nearby urging me to swing hard at the piñata hanging from a tree limb before me.
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