I don’t know why I don’t like Halloween more than I do. It’s all about dressing up in other people’s clothes, which I love to do. And, you know, candy. I like candy. No, I don’t like all kinds of candy, but I’m not anti-candy, and I don’t actually have to eat any of the nasty stuff.
Of course, now that YHB is an Old Guy, Halloween is not so much about getting candy, but about shepherding around the Perfect Non-Reader whilst she gets candy (off of which I then get to skim). And she’s cute and all, no doubt about that. And there are other cute kids out there trick-or-treating. Yes, there are a few kids who don’t dress up, but I give them candy anyway, because, really, I don’t want to spend my night making value judgments. And on the whole, happy kids, a good thing.
I certainly haven’t been going out to grown-up Halloween party these last few years. People thought I was joking when I said that I aged a generation on the day the PN-R was born, but it’s true. I went from being a Guy to being a Papa. A guy goes to a Halloween party if he wants to, and dresses up if he wants to. A Papa goes to a Halloween party if it’s for his little one, and dresses up if it’s worth entertaining the little one. Of course it’s possible to get a baby-sitter on Halloween, finish taking the little one around and take care of the transition from costume to jammies, give the bowl of candy to the babysitter, and go out. Possible. But it does not happen. And really, the key thing is that I don’t want it to happen. I’m not spending a zillion bucks on a babysitter, forget dealing with the hassle of finding one who isn’t going to a party herself, and besides, after watching the kindergarten parade, and going around the block trick-or-treating, and getting the child calmed down enough to go to bed, I’m ready to put my feet up and read about scary Republicans.
Didn’t we just have Halloween last year?
chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek,