My Mother Never Made Anything Cool

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Building The Perfect Family

These guys would have been the best uncles growing up.
I feel I got screwed.

Plummer would be my dad, and he'd say from the corner of his mouth, "Come here, son.  Have I told you I love you, son.  And that I'm proud of you, son."  And I'd say, "This hour?  Nope."  And we'd laugh.

The Rules

Every Halloween, I haunt the house where my parents live. I never had enough trick or treaters wherever I lived, so it made sense to make a homecoming each year and continue the haunt that I had started in the years when I actually DID live there. This way the neighborhood kids could enjoy the haunt that they grew to expect each year - something to look forward to each Halloween season. I never knew I'd eventually see children that were too scared to come up to get candy grow up and marry and have kids of their own that were too scared to come up for candy. (Though I've come to realize that the number of kids no longer matters to me.)

Anyway, I have two basic rules that I kindly explain to my mother, father, and sister (who visits each year with her sons).

THE RULES:

1. Please keep the front door closed so the light from inside the house doesn't break the mood and atmosphere of the darkened porch.

2. Please wait to go in or out of the house until trick or treaters have passed.

Both seem like easy rules to follow. And even if they seemed irrational or silly, surely you could humor me and abide by them. Right? On that one night a year I live for, right?

So I've created a tradition of becoming Michael Myers in order to hand out candy on Halloween night. I just sit there motionless until a child comes up for candy. Then I slowly drop some candy into their bag. No jumping or startling scares. Not my style.

So this year, a small child dressed as Michael Myers comes up for candy. A golden moment. He and I realize the significance of what's happening as we both do the famed Myers head-tilt at each other. I reach inside the bowl of candy slowly and grab five pieces of candy for this mini Michael Myers. "OH LOOK!!!! IT'S MICHAEL MYERS!!!!!!! OH LOOK AT THAT!!!!! LOOK-AT-IT!!!! LOOK-AT-IT!!!!!!!" shrieks my mother from behind me, the front door wide open, light streaming onto the porch. The kid looking up at her in an unspoken "Let's both kill her" sort of way. The moment was gone. Spoiled. Dried up and lost forever. Magic no more. And that's my point. It happened a few more times over the night. Then things got a little better, rules were followed to some degree, probably by accident.

Then my sister stepped into the candy bowl when trying to squeeze past me, and fell face first onto the walkway, landing on spilled candy that her foot didn't already squish. My only hope was that approaching trick or treaters assumed Myers had killed another victim and that it was all part of the show.

I'm glad she didn't land on any of my pumpkins.