My trick-or-treating nights are numbered. We are down to two trick-or-treaters in our family now, and only one who will still suffer his mom to walk beside him. Next Halloween, I expect it will be just me and him. In a few years, I’ll be back on the grown up side of the door.
Our neighborhood has a few streets that really go all out on Halloween night. As I was dropping my seventh grader off at one of these to meet his friends, he remarked on the extent of the decorations.
“It’s because people love children,” I told him. “And they love make-believe.”
“I think it’s because people love making money,” he said. There is no cynic like a 12-year-old boy.
“Okay, so there is a commercial aspect, but still.”
The Littlest Dr. Who and I went to the annual street party around the corner from our house, where they block off the road, and go to all kinds of crazy extremes of decorating and treating. At one house, a woman greeted us from her front porch in a fantastic witch costume. I asked if I could take her picture, to prove 12-year-old cynics wrong, and to reassure myself that the last days of trick or treat with my kids don’t foreshadow my inevitable banishment from make believe.
When I retire from my curbside role on Halloween night, I get to go onstage and be her.