Chapter 1: Pin the Tail on the Daniel • Chapter 1• PIN THE TAIL ON THE DANIEL
You know you’re a square peg in a round world when you find you’re the only person at the birthday party defending the piñata.



As I had the tailless donkey.



And the gnome-themed cake.



For I was a sucker for anything with a face.

Its salvation my destiny.

And no face required saving more than the round one belonging to Daniel “Chance” McGibbons.



Who had to keep being reminded by his father to stop drawing and at least talk to the other kids at the birthday party.



As it was his birthday party.

But the act of talking seemed to pain him almost as much as the pummeling of the piñata pained me.

Though I didn’t know why.

For as much as I admired the shape of his adorably round face, I knew next to nothing about him.

Other than the fact that he lived across the street from me. Which was the only reason I had even been invited to this gathering of what were otherwise just his classmates.

Who, truth be told, appeared to know as little about Daniel as I did.

Aside from the obvious.

Like the fact that he was the only kid any of us knew who walked with a cane.



Which I thought only old people used.

And which may have been the cause of his shyness.

But whether it was the cane or just an aversion to social events, Daniel’s absence as host and birthday boy left a void that could be felt by all, most notably his father. Who seemed as graceful and sociable as Daniel was not. And who wanted Daniel to participate in his birthday party not so much for the sake of Daniel, but for his own desire to not be embarrassed around the other parents.



And sensing Daniel’s distress, I stepped in to fill the void. For having ostracized myself among this group of strangers by attempting to save the piñata, donkey, and gnome, I had little left to lose.

And so I climbed atop a barstool in the living room and waxed eloquent.

On the benefits of shopping local.

The merits of print journalism.

And the pitfalls of birthday hats upon soft, malleable hair.



None of which seemed to connect with my peers.



And so I tried to be slightly more topical by saying a few kind words about the birthday boy, who I could see standing behind the other kids, as he had been made to do by his father.



But because I knew so little about him, I could only talk about what I had seen. So I praised his resilience (the cane), his creativity (the drawing), and his listening skills (his silence).

And did not notice until it was too late that each time I said his name, he was taking one giant step backward. As though each word of praise were somehow a lance to the belly.

Until he was left standing with his back against the wall.

Pinned there by unintentional cruelty.

Like the donkey without a tail.



And seeing that I had unwittingly hurt the one round face I’d sought to save, I did the only noble thing I could.

I grabbed the piñata and fled.