Invaluable Family Traditions
In addition to biological inheritance from its parents, the child also receives attitudes, sentiments, and ideals which are also part of the family culture
Much to my chagrin, Halloween seems to becoming more and more popular. It’s already worked its unattractive way up to being the 5th largest spending “holiday” that American’s see fit on “witch” (sorry) to blow their money (business pundit.com).
I’m sure you’ve seen those massive spaces in shopping centers rented out for the time period of August through October that sell elaborate costumes that seemingly all kids and a good number of adults are socially pressured to need nowadays.
As an adult, I’ve always been one to wish Halloween would just go away. I could appreciate how much my kids, Jesse, Beau, and Matt could get into it, but I tried to keep things as low key as possible.
0ur family featured no lavish house decorations like some neighbors.
We celebrated with a quick candy grab to a representative batch of nearby houses within walking distance. The kids trudging along with me when they were smaller, their bags getting heavier with each house call.
My wife staying wherever we lived at the time to hand out the goodies and pretend not to recognize the kids until they pulled off their masks.
I must confess, I didn’t recognize the neighborhood youngsters even when they took off their masks so that bit of devilish activity was hers every year.
When our kids were preteens, we were teased into allowing them to venture out on Halloween without me chaperoning.
Empty promises were extorted by us for them to be back home by 8:00 pm
Worked out well.
We all survived.
Moving up, our family emigrated to a new neighborhood when the kids were all over the teen threshold.
New problems were realized when they were invited to private parties given by classmates.
The first year in our new house, new school system, tentatively extending our best foot forward for purposes of ingratiating the 5 of us to our neighbors and classmates.
At around 9:00, my wife and I thought Halloween was in the bank for the year. Kids all home from their respective parties.
No major vandalism requiring the cops. Almost all our candy dispersed among the neighborhood kids.
Life was good in our new neighborhood.
We kinda like it here!
My wife and I had turned our front lights out, the universal sign that address has packed Halloween for the night; everything shut down until the next October 31st.
It was 11:00 pm.
We were in bed when we were disturbed by a banging at the front door.
It stopped.
We lay there for a short bit.
Then it started again.
Halloween scary!
I got up, hastily pulled on a pair of pants, and hustled on over to where all the noise was coming from.
Through the heavy, darkened glass of our front door, I saw 2 of what appeared to be huge trick or treaters standing on the dimly lit porch. I cracked the door to hear rather rough, mature voices through what appeared to be 2 vapid, shit-eating, grinning, emoji masks.
Trick or treat Barrabees!
Although my wife had not joined me at the door yet.
This turned out to not be a ruthless home invasion; simply our neighbors, Tim and Martha Malloy from a couple of houses away. This particular couple of Halloween beggars were retired with grandchildren, hopefully, tucked away in their own parent’s place by this hour.
The Malloys’ Halloween obligations over for the night felt that it would be neat to start a tradition of donning half-assed costumes and visiting the houses on the block.
They may have thought it a treat for the hosts of their brief visits to talk with a couple of adults after spending an evening unmasking children and handing out candy.
Well — maybe.
Seems like in order to treat this particular pair of elderly trickers, the folks they dropped in on offered them an adult beverage; each host feeling they were probably the only ones being so creative
Unfortunately, we lived at the end of the block.
“Ya got any Maker’s Mark?” slurred Tim.
“Just beer or wine found here,” I answered with honesty, “Your choice.”
“That’s horse piss!” a rather wooly tongued Martha contributed.
“Let’s vamoose,” she suggested, wobbly.
As Martha and Tim unsteadily wound their way to the street from our house; I turned on the outdoor lights.
Only to see Tim urinating on the rear left tire of my car.
