Last Friday night, my 18-year-old son strolled out of his bedroom and scared me half-to-death.
“Why in the world are you dressed like that?” I demanded to know, pointing to the fact that he was covered from head-to-toe in some kind of other-worldly black costume, including a full head mask which only allowed me to see his eyes. In addition, he had a gigantic sword strapped to his side.
“I’m going to a Halloween party with some of my friends,” came the explanation. “You have heard of Halloween, haven’t you, Dad?”
“Yes, but just what are you supposed to be?”
“I’m a ninja.”
“I see. Well, I guess my next question is what is a ninja?”
“You’ve never heard of ninjas?”
“I’ve heard of ninja turtles, but you certainly don’t look like a turtle.”
“Well,” explained my son, “a ninja is a Japanese spy or assassin, you know, like a samurai warrior, only more sneaky.”
“You know,” I said, “that really doesn’t help me all that much.”
“Look, Dad, I really don’t have time to bring you into the 21st century tonight. I’m already late for the party.”
“Who else is going to this party?”
“All my friends.”
“Is your best friend going?”
“Sure.”
“And what is he going as?”
“I think he said he was going to be the Terminator. You do know who the Terminator is, right?
“Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
“Close enough.”
“So, is everyone at this party going to look like they want to tear limbs, or slice them, off of human bodies?”
“Pretty much.”
“But why don’t you just go as Davey Crockett or something?”
“Davey Crockett?”
“You know, the guy with the coonskin hat.”
“Coonskin hat?”
“Never mind.”
“See you later, Dad.”
“Oh, one more thing. You’re not going to be driving all around town looking like that, are you?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, because although you say you look like a ninja, whatever that is, to me you look like a jihadist, and I don’t want the police shooting first and asking questions later if they happen to see you near any important buildings or bridges.”
“Can I go now?”
“What time will you be home?”
“When I can’t find anymore limbs to hack off.”
Anyway, after my son left for his party, I couldn’t but think how much Halloween has changed over the years. Instead of the emphasis being placed on sweet little kids running through friendly neighborhoods trick-or-treating, now it seems like most of the fun is being had by costumed teenagers and adults at private parties. But way back when I was young, the blocks in my neighborhood were full of young ghosts and goblins, and my parents always bought at least 250 pieces of candy and that was a conservative estimate. Plus, unlike today, it was considered almost un-American for adults to turn off their lights and pretend they weren’t at home, so my entire neighborhood was always lit up and almost every house had wonderful Halloween decorations of one sort or another on display. And also, unlike today, we didn’t just go to a few houses where we knew the people and could count on getting safe and properly packages treats. No, without a worry in my head, I would fly from door to door as fast as my little legs would carry me until my gigantic pillowcase was so full of candy and other assorted goodies that I could hardly drag it another inch.
“So,” I said to my son when he finally arrived home from the party, “how did things go?”
“Why are you still up so late?”
“It’s my job, waiting for kids to come home.”
“You’ve just been sitting in that chair waiting for me?”
“Well, no, I was actually having myself a good think, you know, thinking back on how much fun Halloween was when I was a kid, and when you and your brothers and sister were young. Do you remember the time when….”
“Look, Dad, I’m really not in the mood to take a stroll down memory lane tonight. I lost my cellphone at the party. That stupid ninja outfit only has this one small pocket, and I guess my cellphone fell out. It was brand new, too.”
“Well, then let that be a little lesson to you.”
“A little lesson?”
“If you had gone as Davey Crockett, this would have never happened.”
“And why is that?
“Because Davey Crockett had really big pockets in his buckskin pants.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”