- “That’s what Halloween’s all about!”
An oldie but goodie from the MBMurrayWrites archives! This piece was published in The Greenwich (Conn.) Time, October 30, 1994
My 4-year-old son’s lower lip quivered as he pointed to the empty step in front of our Riverside home. The day before, a 12-inch jack-o-lantern had waited there to frighten trick-or-treaters who would soon call. That morning, it was gone.
During the night, someone stole the pumpkin that Tyler had so carefully chosen at Jones’ Tree Farm last week. It had taken 20 minutes of foraging through a patch of perfectly found pumpkins to find the shape we needed: tall and narrow, “like Bert’s head, on Sesame Street.” Only days ago, my son very seriously demonstrated the wide, scary “O” I should make for the mouth; wisely, he allowed Mom to cut out the “hat” and scoop all the “gunky stuff” from inside. When it came to designating the placement of mouth, nose, and eyes, however, it was all Tyler’s show.
Later, carefully considering where on the steps Bert should rest, Tyler chose the bottom one so everyone could see him better.
“Dad will be so scared!” he announced after the pumpkin was properly situated. “That’s what Halloween’s all about!” The day it turned up missing, he wasn’t so sure.
Realizing our pumpkin thief was probably nothing more than the victim of teenage peer-pressure, I decided this wasn’t the occasion to initiate Tyler to the reality of a world where some people don’t think about others when they act.
“That wasn’t such a nice thing to do, taking our pumpkin, was it?” I asked him.
“We need another one,” Tyler declared, breathing deeply as he’d been told to do when trying not to get upset. Well then, I thought, the damage wasn’t so great after all. He’d taken a “how-do-we-fix-this” approach. I was proud of him.
“Of course we need another one,” I replied. “We can carve our really big pumpkin this afternoon.”
“No. We need one now,” insisted Tyler. “We need to take Nick’s pumpkin.” He craned his neck to see if, indeed, our next-door neighbor had a jack-o-lantern worth claiming for our own.
“Take Nick’s?!” I cried. “Why ever would we do that?”
“Because someone took ours,” Tyler replied simply, and with a certain logic.
“But…we’re pretty sad that someone took the pumpkin we worked so hard to pick out and carve, right?” I began tentatively. “Wouldn’t Nick be sad if we took his?”
Tyler looked at me blankly. What’s the point, I imagined him thinking, if this is the way things are done. Well, sure, I answered him in my own mind, that may be the way things are done sometimes. But it doesn’t mean we all have to do things this way.
To a four-year-old, however, diversion is much more effective in diffusing a crisis than philosophical debate. Frank the Barber waited for Tyler and Dad, so the boys had to move on. A green lollipop for good behavior at Frank’s and the mysterious appearance of another pumpkin (even more Bert-like than the first) were enough to put the Case of the Pilfered Pumpkin to rest in Tyler’s mind. But not in Mom’s.
Children can teach us much about how our actions affect those who observe—or suffer—them. Once in the habit of slamming doors when I was angry, I only needed to see my son imitate me once to see how disruptive it was to the rest of the family. Seeing Tyler mirror what I thought was an insignificant action, I realized it had deeper implications: I had taught him that such behavior was acceptable.
I believe the same holds true for our neighbors. Whether it’s carelessly driving up on someone’s lawn, or trading harsh words with a friend, or just taking a little jack-o-lantern, we tell those who watch that “this is the way things are done.” We know, of course, that it doesn’t end there. The next time, they will be driving, or speaking, or stealing, and our lawn, or feelings, or pumpkin may suffer.
Swiping a pumpkin for a scavenger hunt won’t end the world; it didn’t even ruin a four-year-old’s morning. Let’s be sure, however, that such a minor inconsideration is not accepted as just “the ways things are done.”
I’d like to think that, with a little thoughtfulness on all our parts, pumpkins like Nick’s will still be spared 10 or 12 years from now. Perhaps, after years of observing a bit more consideration amongst us, the adolescent Tyler might even forfeit the points he could have earned for “scavenging” a neighbor’s scarecrow or pumpkin.
I can imagine him walking past the house with a jack-o-lantern just waiting to be scarfed up; maybe he’d even think back on how hard we worked and how our neighbors had said what a great job we’d done. Then, in that distant year, he’d say again: “That’s what Halloween’s all about!”
- Welcome to MBMurray Writes!
Join me as I pursue the nth iteration of my writing career: Novelist! I’ll pass along all the exciting details of my efforts to refine my craft, introduce my characters, imagine their adventures, and promote my work. Stay tuned – there’s lots to come.
Happy to have you along for the ride!
Maryann
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What’s so wonderful about the “Old World” is that they so love and protect the “old.” So much of what we saw was exactly as I would have found it to be in 1894. I could easily imagine Elizabeth and Stephan strolling down the lane, deep in conversation…
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