I manned the front door last night during Halloween as I passed out Skittles, Sweet Tarts and red licorice among other cavity-causing candy.
I thought I would be a little rusty because I hadn’t catered to the ghosts and goblins — along with some Swifties and Guardians of the Galaxy — for 10 years. Yet five giant bags of candy had diminished to just a handful of Jolly Ranchers by the time I turned off the porch light and slumped onto the couch.
Perfect rationing. A job well done, if I do say so myself.
My wife and I are in Evansville this week staying with our three teen-age grandsons. Same state as South Bend but it’s as if we are in the middle of nowhere and more than 300 miles from my own bed and other creature comforts.
No snow down here, though. That was a positive, I guess.
But I was a little worried about the Halloween duties that I knew we would be taking on this week. Our neighborhood in South Bend is mainly inhabited by old people — like me — and the kids pretty much stay away, maybe thinking we might dump carrots and cucumbers into their bags.
Things worked out fine here, though, with more than 150 kids — ages 2 to 18 I’m guessing — ringing the doorbell. The only time I panicked was when a dozen or so Minions swooped in on me while apparently chattering their own language. Despicable Me I was not, letting the Minions grab their own bounty out of my bowl of candy.
The two white Labs on each side of me did initially scare some of the smaller trick or treaters — one little Ninja Turtle running back to his mommy — but the dogs, Mabel and Millie, probably were more welcoming than I was. They took turns wearing a knitted hat with horns.
The dogs’ headgear was better than some of the costumes that our 14-year-old grandson and his buddies wore. A mask, I guess, is all they needed along with a pillow case for their candy.
The night did bring back memories when our three kids were young and seeking their own sugar highs. Our daughter was usually some kind of princess and the boys battled to see who got to be Ryne Sandberg instead of having to pull on the old Tin Man outfit we kept over the years.
Ah, those were the days.
I remember one night when I was about to run out of treats before the 7 p.m. deadline and I tried to chase down our youngest son to “borrow” some of his candy from his overflowing plastic jack-o-lantern. It must have shocked some of the neighbors to see a pint-sized Chicago Cub running down the street yelling “Child abuse!” with me hot on his trail.
I never did catch him and there were a lot of scary creatures waiting for me on my porch when I returned empty-handed. “Bananas, anyone?”
I don’t know how she pulled it off but my wife came up with a mythical sprite called the Sugar Fairy who would take away all but 10 pieces of candy from each of our kids’ buckets overnight and then leave a toy for the rest of the candy.
The Sugar Fairy was good for their teeth, but bad for my belly since I was the one who was supposed to dispose of the excess candy.
I asked my wife if we should try to resurrect the Sugar Fairy for our grandkids. “Good luck with that,” she said. “I’m not sure you could even find where they hid their stashes.”
I tried. She was right. But I will say that the little bowl of Jolly Ranchers that I didn’t pass out last night will be long gone before they get back from school this afternoon.
Contact Bill at [email protected]