Michael Myers, and Zombies, and Witches, Oh My!

There is no better time than mid-October.  The obscene heat of the summer has passed into memory and the countdown to Christmas is at least a good three weeks away.

Of all holidays, I think Halloween is my favorite.  Maybe it speaks to the abnormal paranormal in me.  With no “other” worldly experiences of my own, I anxiously scour the plethora of TV listings for ghost stories and tales of the occult, like a child awaiting Christmas specials.

As a kid, I would happily hum “Five Little Pumpkins” as I cut out purple bats from ratty construction paper.  “Have You Seen the Ghost of John?” was carefully harnessed to doctoring simple treble clefs into witches on broomstick.

It shouldn’t surprise that one of my first preteen parties was not a birthday party, but a Halloween bash.  I presented my clairvoyant self with my cardboard Ouija Board to a room full of sixth graders. 

It was then I first learned that not everyone is an enthusiast of the occult.  One friend left the séance before I had a chance to uncork my tarot cards. 

She needn’t have worried.  The sixth sense eludes me.

This year, my grown up quandary revolves around three-year-old Max who, it also turns out, shirks the dark side. 

Store displays of rattling skeletons and cackling witches bring him to a near catatonic state before breaking free in convulsions of sobs and tremors.  I almost expect him to extend and bend his index finger while chanting, “Max isn’t here, Mrs. Torrance.”

His pirate costume, hanging along side of Kenny’s fireman suit, will most likely remain unworn.  Mostly because no boy really wants a to wear a Seinfeld puffy shirt and the act of trick or treating down a street with kids in costumes is likely to put him into an inmate-state-of-mind. 

The lure of candy is not enough.

This past weekend, as I folded laundry and watched Scariest Halloween Attractions on the Travel Channel, Max’s one eye was transfixed on the screen while the rest of him was tightly wound around my legs.

Michael Myers, and zombies, and witches, oh my!

Ironically, I can relate.  As intrigued with the Halloween genre as I am, I wouldn’t last any longer than the opening credits in any slasher movie. Better I lie down and wait for the inevitable, than to trip and fall in exaggerated procrastination to my death.  Our recent excursion to Sandusky’s Haunted Manor only confirms that.  While my family laughed in hysterics, I became easy prey for the actors. 

It turns out, it doesn’t matter how brave a spectator you are.  What counts is how brave you are in the trenches.

This Halloween, Max and I will probably trick or treat down the candy aisle at WalMart, while the braver participants in our family brave the city streets in search of loot.  Max can wear his puffy shirt while we watch The Great Pumpkin.  And I will smugly enjoy the end of a season that inevitably will turn nightmarish as the Christmas countdown draws near.