By Mike Pound
Globe columnist
Well, another night of fear and minor destruction is behind us.
No more creepy people. No more ghouls. No more frightening figures. No more scaring the Geraldo out of people.
Yep, another Democratic presidential debate is over. Ha, that’s just a presidential-candidate joke. Although, come to think about it, Hillary can be pretty scary when she’s mad. Why do you think Bill put off admitting that “maybe, just maybe, perhaps I did have sex with that woman”?
Honestly, I bet almost every man — who wasn’t a Republican Congress Creature back then — probably pictured Hillary mad at them and said: “Yeah, I would lie too.”
But I don’t really want to talk about Hillary; I want to talk about Halloween. It’s over, is what it is, and I for one couldn’t be happier.
When I was a young, single male person, I used to love Halloween. It was a time for wild, drunken parties with lots of people wearing outrageous costumes and seemingly having nothing to lose. Although, really, most of the time my outrageous costumes were whatever I happened to be wearing at the time. I would just show up at a party and say that I was dressed as a guy with no taste.
You’d be surprised how many costume contests I won.
There was one time when I actually went out and rented a costume. It was a nun’s habit, something that I’m sure my late great-aunt Sister Celestine didn’t see the humor in. Anyway, the party I was going to in my nun costume was at a farm outside of Baxter Springs, Kan. I got to the party early, to help get a bonfire started. The bonfire wasn’t for the party; we just thought it would be fun to start one. Ha. Again I joke. No, the bonfire was for the party. When I got to the field where the bonfire was to be built, the guy hosting the party said he needed to run back to his house for a minute, and he told me to stay in the field with his grandfather.
The guy’s grandfather was probably in his 80s. He was a tough-looking, grizzled old farmer. He didn’t say much. He mainly just stared at people with a look that said, “I could, if I wanted to, rip off your head and use it as a doorstop.”
And that’s the look the old farmer used on people he liked. You don’t want to know what sort of looks the old farmer used on a guy standing in a farm field wearing a nun’s habit.
It was an awkward 15 or 20 minutes, is what I’m saying.
But my days as a young, single male person are gone. Now I spend my days as an old, married male person. I don’t go to wild Halloween parties anymore. Now I go to grade-school Halloween parties. Don’t get me wrong. Grade-school parties do tend to get wild. They just get wild in a different way.
Think about it. You take a classroom full of 9- and 10-year-old kids who have been waiting since they woke up for their classroom Halloween party. They have been waiting to put on their Halloween costumes. They have been waiting to dive into Halloween snacks. They have been waiting for the party because they know that when the party is over, school will be over and they can go door-to-door, begging for candy. They have been waiting to fall face-first into a big ol’ pile of sugar-loaded snacks.
In other words, the kids are always a little anxious.
Of course, at my daughter Emma’s school, all the kids are well-mannered. They have been taught to respect their classmates, their teachers and the adults who visit their school. Because the kids at Emma’s school are well-mannered, we usually are able to avoid a full-scale riot during their Halloween party. Mainly what happens, if the kids start to get out of line, is that Principal Laurel Rosenthal will get on the intercom and threaten to cancel the entire Halloween holiday. She can’t really do that, of course, but the kids don’t know that.
My wife and several of the other mothers of kids in Emma’s class organize the Halloween party. They plan the games, they cook the food, and they bring extra decorations.
I carry things. And not just certain things. Nope, I carry anything my wife and her friends tell me to carry. I don’t ask questions. I don’t complain (OK, I complain a little). I just carry.
It’s not a lot of fun. And it’s not the way I really want to spend my Halloween. But I really don’t have a choice. If I don’t carry things for my wife and her friends, my wife will get mad at me.
I mean, she’s no Hillary, but she’s pretty scary.
