If you are currently wearing a hockey mask or have recently hosted a fake blood contest, I apologize in advance. But I’ve never understood Halloween. As a child, my nearest neighbors required a short bike ride, and they were more likely to great weirdos at the front door with a shotgun than with a basket of candy. It’s possible those early years tainted my appreciation for the kookiest of American holidays.
I do remember attending a couple of “fall harvest” celebrations at my church during my early teen years. These were mostly self-righteous alternative events intended to keep youth away from Satanic induction ceremonies. Since, as far as I know, none of my friends joined the Satanic church, these events must have worked. I remember one year in particular because the fall harvest celebration matched up with high school drama rehearsals for “You Can’t Take it With You.” I played Grandpa Vanderhof for the singular reason that I had loose, wrinkly skin that facilitated the application of old-man makeup.
The timely bonus was attending the festival in full Grandpa costume and makeup. I was beyond a shadow of a doubt the best fifteen-year-old grandpa in the room. That event aside, I soon established my cherished Halloween traditions of denial, avoidance, and grumpitude. I even had to tolerate my sacred Simpsons being interrupted by the vapid Halloween special every year. The only decent line to ever emerge from these irregular episodes was when Lisa exclaimed, “Dad, you killed the zombie Flanders!” To which Homer replied, “He was a zombie?”
Then I entered the young-married-without-children phase of life. Those were happy years of shutting off the porch light and hiding away in the basement in order to watch totally non-Halloweeny rom-coms like Bed of Roses or Sleepless in Seattle. Then we moved to Salt Lake City. Oh boy. Let me tell you, Mormons LOVE Halloween. As much as Southern Baptists hate it, the LDS relish in it. I had never experienced Halloween decorations until SLC. Not really. I mean, we had neighbors who would execute their own personal haunted houses complete with strobing lights, chainsaw-wielding maniacs, and smoke machines.
Eventually, we had kids. Not wanting to crush their childlike wonder and all, the wife and I sucked it up and attempted the whole costume and trick-or-treating thing. The first attempt ended with our oldest son in tears. The second attempt resulted in both kids traumatized. Not sure how that happened, other than the fact that they seemed to be frightened by scary things rather than amused. Go figure. Where did I go wrong as a parent?
Last year, our kids being nine and twelve, we got together with some of the neighbors and thought we’d try wandering around the neighborhood one last time. You know, as a break from the whole Covid thing. Being responsible parents, we maintained enough distance to mostly ignore our children while sipping adult beverages and chatting about the titillating vagaries of the season.
It turned out, the second block of houses included a front porch decorated with what appeared to be a mannequin but ended up being a headless neighbor holding a basket of candy. That ended that. Our kids were ready to take what little candy they had and call it quits. Meh. I took my drink home with me, and we settled in to watch It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. I’m not concerned in the least that no one in my family gets their kicks from watching failed acupuncture victims or manicure failures with bad acne run around and splash ketchup everywhere.
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At the Desk This Week
Another week, another episode edited on the third season of The Green Ones. I’m getting closer to this one being polished and ready for prime time. I still haven’t decided what I’m going to work on next, but I’m leaning toward a story I started a few years ago called, Gridiron 2029. It’s a techno-triller, cyberpunk story involving American football. If I don’t finish it soon, I’ll need to change the title to be a bit more in the future!
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