Memories Of Halloweens Past

Received a really terrific memory from fellow haunter Jeff (from the always-awesome Ragged Grin Haunt).  

Jeff shared, "My Halloween memories could fill volumes. Trick-or-treating in a town that celebrated and valued the holiday, building and designing the youth group haunt in my church basement, my big brother babysitting me while working at the local Jaycee's haunted house, and one of his female classmates dressing me up as a hobo and walking the queue line at 7 years old asking for change in exchange for fresh eyeballs. All of these experiences would instill and shape the love for the holiday that I hold so dear to this day. 

One thing however stands out that I will forever remember, the Scarecrow. My father was a hardworking, salt of the earth, gruff sort of man. Stern, but always fair. But "Big Harry", as he was called, had a mischievous side that not many got to see. His was a difficult upbringing.  He was the third oldest son in a family of eight kids, his two older brothers drinkers and troublemakers.  My father quit school in the 10th grade to go to work and learn construction because both of his parents became ill. By the time he escaped Clarington, PA for a construction gig in Pittsburgh, he had seen all of his younger siblings graduate and find purpose. For years I sat puzzled as my aunts and uncles referred to him as "Had" for reasons I wouldn't understand until my teens. But the Scarecrow - Dad liked to have fun where he could, "one could only put up with so much seriousness," so one of my earliest memories of Halloween was helping, basically handing him stuff, while he built a scarecrow from old work pants, boots, and a red flannel shirt stuffed with bagged leaves. A burlap sack with one eye cut out and an old wide brimmed hat finished the deal along with some old work gloves.  And soon, Patch the scarecrow sat in an old rocker on the front porch about a week before October 31st. As the big night approached (school parties, etc.), I became aware that my parents were occasionally discussing the event while in the kitchen over dinner prep, dishes, etc. and laughter often ensued. Come Halloween night, I would abruptly and vividly discover why.  Dad would routinely wear green work pants and a consistent rotation of plaid flannel shirts to work, always the same brand, colors, and patterns, bought from the same store, and always tannish Red Wing boots on his feet. When I left to join my friends and a parent on the sidewalk to begin this most spooky of events... Patch stood up to see me off.  I nearly landed on the roof and many on the sidewalk shrieked in shock. 

My dad...was cool! 

I would learn that Dad had gotten the idea from a coworker and thought it would be a fun thing for he and I to do...and he could scare the piss out of me and everyone else in the process. Sometimes it was him, sometimes just a bag of leaves and clothes. Sometimes the dummy was laying half askew in the lawn and his "twin" would sneak out from the sides of the house. Then one year, long past my first encounter with Patch, there were two chairs.  Then after a few more years only one, and eventually none. One of my last conversations with my father revolved around that first year and how much fun we had in ensuing Halloweens. Having been adopted and looking nothing like my parents and extended family, I'll always cherish the few, undeniable similarities between father and son, so vastly different, but alike in tangible, powerful ways as well. 

Long after Big Harry passed and I had my own kids, my oldest son would help me build, I believe, an even scarier version of Patch...red plaid shirt, green work pants...with a wry smile and one visible eye. 

Many swore he moved as well."

Thanks, Jeff!  Really appreciate you sharing that about your dad.  It's a wonderful memory.

For anyone interested in submitting, you can email me at pumpkinrot @ gmail . com (remove the spaces, of course!)

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