It was a perfect summer flashback kind of day in mid-October. The staff wore admiral’s hats, and handed a flute of champagne to each guest as he or she stepped off the gangplank onto the boat. I wanted everything to look authentically nautical—well, at least as authentically nautical as a brunch for 150 RSVP’d people on a luxury yacht circling Manhattan could be. As we shoved off, the DJ started spinning slow jams to warm up the crowd before the band started its first set.

This was going to be a fun day—my daughter’s best birthday ever. I weaved my way in and out of guests above and below deck, always with tequila on the rocks in hand. I of course knew most of the guests, but there were a few here and there I had to introduce myself to. With so many friends and family on board, it was difficult to keep any conversation going past the response to “How are you?”

As the band kicked up some 70s and 80s cover songs, people hit the dance floor. The New York City skyline and the Statue of Liberty provided the backdrop. About three hours into the four-hour excursion, just after brunch, cake and more champagne were served. The lead singer crooned “Happy Birthday to You” to my daughter, and everyone joined in. That’s when the tears started to flow.

My daughter didn’t like how loud it was or that everyone seemed to be looking at her.

After all, she was only one year old.

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