Having shelled out money for candy and silly outfits, I was now being led like a sugar beggar to my neighbors. We were forty minutes into Trick-or-Treating. My husband was cheerfully marching the older girls while I held the hand of my second daughter. She whispered, "Can't we just go to the store and buy candy? Can we just go home?" My heart swelled three times its size, perhaps I could corrupt at least one of my daughters to the Anti-Halloween camp.
And then it happened.
It looked like every other decorated house.
But then the owner swung open his door. With a quick wave, like a magician offering a card trick, he displayed a blanket covered in nicknacks.
My daughter abandoned me, letting my hand hang neglected at my side, and flew to the blanket. All three girls (apparently loyalty is fickle) snatched various "treasures" worthy of a Saturday morning garage sale.
My middle, second daughter sang all the way home as she clutched two pennies and an aged Webster's dictionary. This morning she jumped from her bed, cradling her booty as her sisters joined in.
My one time companion yelled, "I love Halloween!"
Operation Destroy Halloween was now dead. Kaput. I failed.
My middle child held up her pennies, announcing, "This is awesome. This penny is super old... it's from the 1980's!"
Apparently, I'm super old and hate Halloween even more.