Why I Love Halloween
Once upon a time there was a daddy. This daddy was the strong, silent type, apt to yell at inanimate objects like lawnmowers and car engines. His little girl was the quiet, timid type, apt to shrink into corners. She'd examine him shyly out of the corners of her eyes at the dinner table, and if she spoke, it'd be in a whisper.
But one time a year--guaranteed--this daddy would throw off his burdens and dig out his stage-makeup kit and play. He'd carve pumpkins into smiling jack-o-lanterns. He'd laugh. This was a holiday unlike any other, a holiday devoted to being childlike, a holiday comprised of candy and costumes.
And so, I've always loved Halloween. I regard it now as I did as a child. In my neighborhood full of mostly retired folks, a ring of the bell is met with a handful of candy and a smile.
Tonight was no different. My 3-year old girl (dressed as a green cateripllar) said, "Trick or treat time!" at each house, then said, "Thank you," in her piping baby voice. My 7-year old only had to be reminded at every other house to say thank you. "But, Mom," he'd say, "I'm so excited, I forget!" He was dressed in a homemade cape with the word "FLAME" emblazoned on the back. "Flame" is a superhero of his own creation.
After trick-or-treating, we dropped off the little one at home and I took the boys to the YMCA for their festivities, an old fashioned carnival. They had as much fun as you can have at a carnival in an hour.
And so every year at this time, I relish the joy of a holiday that brought out my somber daddy's fun side. Besides that, I get to create cute costumes for my cute kids so I can make cute scrapbook pages. And then, when they're tucked into bed for the night, I can go trolling for Snickers bars and other nut-filled chocolates they hate. That is my duty as a caring mother.