Halloween's Real Bag of Tricks

November 1, 2010

You can learn a lot about a person on Halloween.

According to Allison, for instance, I didn't need a costume last night, because, in just 24 short hours, I had become Mean Old Mrs. Holt, the neighbor lady every kid on the block avoids.

It's true, I'd had some uncomfortable conversations with some kids this weekend. As a teacher, I like to call these conversations "learning opportunities." As kids, these learning opportunities are viewed more as traumas or "old-person interruptions to our fun."

After a weekend filled with telling kids to stop digging in our window panes and informing football players that it would be good manners to ask Mean Old Mrs. Holt if they could play in our yard, I put the icing on my sour-cream cake by shooing away the hands of the double dippers and lecturing the second-round trick-or-treaters.

But enough about my own devastating, downward spiral into witchdom. . .

With each ring of our bell last night, it was like administering another Rorschach test to the costumed kiddies. Below, are some of my spooky observations.

Multiple Bell Ringers--these kids have the patience of a tornado, unable to contain even their bell-ringing fingers. And they cannot be bothered with people whose achy legs take moments--MOMENTS!--to cross the room and open the door. Invariably, their outfits are sloppily-assembled, last-minute creations.

Bowl Grabbers--Not much to say here, except that they will have long and successful careers as lobbyists for industries we'd rather not know about.

Pumpkin Trippers--These are distant relatives to the Multiple Bell Ringers, a little too anxious to get to the sugar-coated booty, but not deft enough on their feet to avoid the attractive pumpkin display we've set on our steps.

Concrete Feeters--This is an interesting bunch. Not as overtly nervy as the Bell Ringers or as clumsy as the Pumpkin Trippers, these master manipulators simply stand there, unmoved and bag still open, after you've generously tossed in that bite-sized Hershey Bar. They know that, like a puppy, the longer they stare, the more candy they may seize.

Adorable Infants--These, quite simply, are pawns for their parents, who miss trick or treating (rightly so!) and need a reason to beg for free candy. Despite knowing this--and guessing that these infants haven't even choked down a Cheerio yet, more or less an O Henry--I still give them good selections, because they are so cute.

Lone Wolves--These creep me out a bit, trolling the neighborhood on their own, often wearing nothing more than a mismatched pair of gloves and a bandana around their mouths. I do what it takes to get them off my porch quickly, even if it means giving them the last Reese's.

Norman Rockwellers--These are probably my favorites, the ones who remind me of my own youth, when outfits were clever and cheap and almost never based upon a cartoon or Pokemon character. They can do no wrong in my book and I make sure never to give them a lemon sucker or box of raisins.

There are others, of course--the travelers (whose parents overfill their vans and cart them around to Snickers-rich neighborhoods), the mute mermaids (who utter not a thing because it's simply too wonderful a night for words), the Axe crowd (teenagers who swallow humiliation now in hopes of swallowing something sugary later),... and much could be written about what kids DO with all that candy when they've finally dragged home their once-white pillowcases, now stuffed with future diabetes and pock-marked thighs.

Alas, those are stories for another time. As for me, considering that neither of my own children hit the streets last night, and that we have nary a leftover--not even a lousy, cavity-ripping Mary Jane--suffice it to say that I've got my own problems.