This year is the first year that we haven’t done some kind of mini-skit in our garage for Halloween in maybe five years. It grew into quite the event; we had ~120 kids last year. One of the little boys a few doors down drew a huge, 20-foot arrow leading toward our house so his little brothers would know where the cool house was. Last year was FrankenLee, Raymonster, and De-gor.
This year, I set up with a humble bowl of candy in the front driveway of my friend’s house. I had intended to get some deep-frying done the night before, but ran out of go juice. So I’m standing around outside in perfect weather, passing out candy and deep-frying pumpkin donuts, crab rangoons, and fried pickles, and drinking Peach Cobbler in a Cup, by which I mean Jackie’s hot peach wine recipe. Gotta say it, pumpkin donuts go really well with sugar glaze and peach wine.
Total number of kids this year: 15. Which includes a) my daughter, b) the friend I’m living with, her daughter, and c) our other friends’ daughter. We did have two kids stop by twice, though, which was good. One of them was six years old, IRON MAN, with glow in the dark bracelets up and down his arm. The first time, he’s with his jaded teenaged sister, who is convincingly dressed as a zombie victim, complete with bullet wound to the forehead and is talking on her phone about yeah, she’s taking her little brother trick or treating and it is so laaaaaaame.
The kid comes up to me, his arms shaking a little, holds out his pumpkin candy collector.
“You have to say the words,” his sister says, still on the phone.
“Ick or eat.”
“Good job,” I say.
I gave the little kid candy, the older sister refuses to take any, they thank me and leave.
Later, the kid returns with his magnificently dreadlocked father, leonine and dignified, who marches the kid up to the driveway and said, “He says he’s already stopped here and got candy but…”
“Yay!” I say. “He can totally have some more, I have way too much left.”
The kid looks at me. I say, “Say your words.”
“Trick or treat!”
Much more confident.
“Good job.” I give him as much candy as I can grab with one hand.
Immediately, he’s like two inches taller, strutting down the sidewalk while the dad rolls his eyes. “Have fun!” I say.
Later, after the deep frying set up is broken down and we’ve retreated into the house, the older sister comes back with a friend, who is dressed up as a teen witch or something. They hold out a single black cadet’s cap with two pieces of candy in it, so I dump two huge handfuls of candy in it. Lee bought about half as much candy as we would have needed, maybe a third of what we would have actually bought, for the old house. I got plenty to hand out sugar to a couple of teenagers.
Every time the doorbell rings I cheer.