It’s the little things…

Yesterday was Halloween, and like the past couple of years, I spent much of it laying in my casket (yep, it’s real), the fog machine billowing, my fright mask on, a cauldron filled with candy on my chest, waiting…

For what, you ask?

Click PLAY to see the video.

 

As always, Pam and I did it up over at my sister and brother-in-law’s place, because they live in a community where trick or treaters flock in droves. Friendly neighborhood, lots of parents get involved (many dress up, too), and there’s only one way in, and one way out. Perfect place to drop off the kids and hang out while they roam the neighborhood in search of the best stuff.

And, we had plenty of it. Here’s a pic of my nephews (no, this isn’t their take), prior to us starting the night’s festivities. We handed out well over 3,000 pieces of candy, and had a hell of a time doing it.

Pic of 3,000+ pieces of Halloween candy

What makes it all worthwhile? The candy? No, not really. I had a couple pieces last night, but I don’t have a big sweet tooth. The costumes? Once upon a time, maybe, but I’m blind now, so the costumes don’t do much for me. The way people decorate their yards? I love hearing about that, and I love it when folks really get into it, like I do, but no, that ain’t it. It’s the little things. You know, like leaping up out of the coffin as a kid reaches into the cauldron and hearing a parent say, “Oh, boy…I think (child’s name) just crapped his pants.” (Heard that a couple times last night.) Or, having macho teenage boys stride over believing I’m fake, just a prop, and sitting up and howling, turning them into shrieking gobs of jelly as they trample their girlfriends to get away from the box. It’s getting the *same* people I got last year, even when they’re prepared. One girl had even meditated (no joke, her friend told us), all day, so she could come and trick or treat sis’ place, knowing I’d be there in my casket.

And still, she screamed like I’d just torn out her fingernails. Say what you will about the occasional three year old who happens to be standing there, waiting for his or her turn to reach in for some candy, if I’m sticking it to a 12 year old dressed as a ninja and making him drop his plastic pumpkin when he streaks off into the night. You come to my sister’s place? You’re gonna earn your candy, baby.

And, just maybe, you’re going to be telling your own kids about what happened way back in the day, when you were the one dressed as Spidey, or a princess, or a skeleton or a zombie and reached into the big black cauldron for a fistful of goodies—and got more than you bargained for.

Next year? Already in the planning stages. To be sure, it’ll be bigger and better. More candy. More decorations. More props.

More kids—and perhaps an adult or two—crapping their pants…
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Currently listening to: Don’t You Forget About Me by Simple Minds

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