Heroes and Hoodlums

There was a time, a couple kids and a home ago, when I wondered whether Andres would ever really get this whole Halloween thing. His trips around the old neighborhood were more formality than fun back then. Despite winning smiles from everybody who answered the door (a pig one year, a turtle the next), he didn't often reward them with one of his own, preferring to keep his guard up. It's as if he was worried that at any point someone was going to declare this free-candy giveaway a total hoax, and he's have to return home empty-handed.

Well, he's definitely got the hang of it now.

Trick-or-treating at 7 looks a lot different than it does at 2. So this past Friday, I watched with a feeling somewhere between love and horror as my son--my own, dear son who once struggled to make it up a set of steps in his overstuffed turtle costume--ran riot with a pack of like-minded ne'er-do-wells, extracting an impossible amount of candy from each house they plundered.

A routine practiced at the first house was perfected by the 20th. The Pack would identify a target. The Pack would rush to the house, leaving only 1/3 of an inch between The Pack and the front door. A single hand, sometimes two, would emerge to ring the doorbell. A poor homeowner would answer the call. The door would swing open, and without wasting time with so much as a "Trick or treat!" or "Happy Halloween!" The Pack would grab as much candy as possible--2, 3, sometimes 4 pieces--before retreating and reforming on someone else's lawn. (In the case of houses with outward-opening screen doors, The Pack would surge into whatever open space was possible, often blocking the door from opening more than a foot or two. But everyone still managed to get their candy. It seemed to be a miracle of fluid dynamics.)

Four-fifths of The Pack. Can you spot the ninja?

In most cases, the poor homeowner was left to contemplate the state of Young People Today, given The Pack's total disregard for any Halloween conventions, like saying "thank you," or not taking Skittles and Snickers and Starburst. In some rare cases, the poor homeowner tried to stand up to The Pack. "HEY! Only one piece of candy!" said one. "Ok, I think your hands are full there," said another. It did no good. The hive mind was too strong.

I stood on the sidewalk and watched the carnage continue unabated. I felt...guilty? ashamed? mortified? Perhaps all three. Did I do anything about it? Not really. Sure, I gave the standard Parent Lecture to Andres ("Say Trick-or-Treat! Don't grab! Be respectful!"), but my heart really wasn't in it, and we both knew I was mailing it in. "Go crazy, have fun, enjoy running around the neighborhood with your friends," is what I really should have said. And I'm no dope either--I knew that the more candy The Pack secured, the more Dots I'd have for weeks to come.

Taking a break and discussing sweaty foreheads.

Of course Celia and Lucia were out trick-or-treating too. They had a much less frenetic, more polite experience than their older brother. Celia (fairy princess, wearing long pink skirt, fairy wings, and blue shoes) dutifully said all the right when the door opened, and we had some lovely conversations about our favorite kinds of candy in between houses. (We found common ground on Junior Mints.) She loved the social nature of the holiday. She found different groups of friends to walk around with, and even as the night grew colder and the streets emptied, she enthusiastically continued on her route, chatting away the whole time. She made for lovely company.

I found a couple of fairy princesses.

But most of my night was spent with Lucia (Wonder Woman). She was pumped for Halloween--Ha-wu-ween--until the trick-or-treating started, at which point she began to question the wisdom of being on the streets alongside hordes of crazy kids dressed in scary costumes. I carried her for the first 20 minutes or so. But once she realized that candy was part of the social contract for the evening, her mood changed. Suddenly Wonder Woman was more willing to walk by herself--as long as it meant walking up to a house, saying "twick-or-twee" in a faint voice, and receiving "awwww!" and candy in return. (And maybe I helped motivate her to walk by bribing her with candy...again, Junior Mints to the rescue.) She got the hang of it pretty quick. And by the end of the night, she was a pro--being selective with her candy choices, and even grabbing more than one piece on occasion. Her brother would be so proud.

She held onto that bag with a vice-like grip all night.

They've now had a few days to assess their giant cavity piles. They all did well, and the obligatory post-Halloween candy trade ended fairly for all participants. That was nice for a change. They even made a pile of "unwanted" candy for Natalia and me. It's a sad collection of Whoppers, Mr. Goodbars, and Baby Ruths (which I actually kind of like), and even that is slowly shrinking in size. They held onto most of the good stuff. Maybe I can sneak some Twizzlers or a Milky Way from Andres. Next year, I think, I have to cut some side deals with The Pack.