Halloween Lingers

Our house was all decorated for Halloween. The problem was Halloween was a week ago. Some of the styrofoam gravestones had been upended, but the zombie hands still stood and the skeletons still looked like they were coming up from the ground. I had taken another business trip the next morning after trick-or-treating (of course I took a few pieces of candy with me) and had been gone for a week. My absence and our crazy schedules meant the kids, and our neighbors, were going to get to celebrate until the next weekend came, when I could carefully dismantle the scene. Arriving home two days later, the graveyard was gone—packed up into bins ready to be put back in the shed for another year.

I married a good woman.

Ghost Train

There were a few hundred people lined up outside the entrance to the train yard. Stupidly, it had never occurred to me that a spooky ghost train ride running for a scant few nights around Halloween in a big city like Los Angeles might attract a crowd. So the Bean and I would just have to wait it out. This was the first sign of trouble.

The Bean’s excitement at riding the train carried us through for a little while. He had spent the majority of the day exclaiming, “Oooh, I can’t wait! I can’t wait!” (I was pretty excited about it too.) The Bean was also curious about being up past his bedtime. He didn’t yet have a solid grasp of time, so as we waited the conversation went like this:

The Bean: If we were at home, what would I be doing right now?

Me: You would be in the bath, complaining about having to wash instead of getting to play.

(Five minutes later…)

The Bean: What would I be doing now?

Me: You would be drying yourself off and running naked around the house, refusing to put on your pajamas.

(Five minutes later…)

The Bean: What would I be doing now?

Me: You’d be halfway through your first game of Mario Kart, bouncing around on the couch like a maniac and whining that you weren’t winning.

Twenty minutes went by and we had barely moved. Since we were now officially past the Bean’s bedtime, our conversation had subsided. He remained excited about the train ride, but was getting a little antsy. I didn’t have anything for the Bean to do but watch the kids who’s smart parents had brought glowsticks and lightsabers. I attempted to keep the kid busy by “timing” how fast he could run to a nearby tree and back. That didn’t last for very long.

It took us an hour before we reached the entrance to the train yard. The Bean was growing tired, but was steadfast in his wanting to ride the train. Then I noticed the second sign of trouble: what was usually a small straight line from the ticket booth to the train was now an unruly queue made up of a couple hundred people that snaked back and forth four times. Though he was deflated and yawning consistently, the Bean insisted that we stay. At least inside the yard there were Halloween decorations to look at.

We slowly moved our way past one of the displays that turned out to be the third sign of trouble: a mannequin bathed in a black light with a woman’s face projected on to it hung on a wall, creating a ghostly visage. It was a cheaper version of the effect used to bring Madam Leola to life in the Haunted Mansion. And even though the Bean had been in the Haunted Mansion a plethora of times with absolutely no problem, this freaked his head off. I tried to diffuse the situation by showing him the projector and telling him how the trick was done but the Bean was still afraid. At this point, we had been waiting for nearly an hour and a half.

As we zigged and zagged through the line, the Bean alternately complained about being scared and being tired. I asked him if he wanted to go and he gave a sharp, firm no. He was going to ride that train. Then he spied a picture that was projected onto a makeshift frame hung above the train platform. It was an old-timey person that slowly transformed into a zombie—another trick he’d seen at Disneyland that wigged him out here. He slid behind me and covered his eyes.

I became convinced that the ghost train was going to break my son. I mean here was a kid who claimed to have gotten spooked by a scene from Dinosaur Train. I gave the Bean every out imaginable. Yet the kid was determined to let anything keep him from riding the train that night. I wondered how long it would take me to save up for his therapy bills.

We had been waiting for two hours by the time we reached the front of the line. The Bean was practically asleep on his feet suddenly became excited boarding the train. I, on the other had, was incredibly nervous.

Thankfully the ride was fairly mild, favoring goofy scares over true horror. And even though there were some images a little more severe than not-Madame Leola, the Bean wasn’t bothered by any of it and we both had a spooky good time. Even though it was two hours past the Bean’s bedtime, the ride acted like a caffeine shot and he was bouncing all over the place after we arrived home, unable to contain his excitement as he told his mom of his adventure on the Ghost Train.

In the Wake of a Sugar Rush

The Bean was a fire fighter. (“With suspenders,” as he would tell everyone.) Sprout was Strawberry Shortcake, whom she refers to as “Strawberry Girl.” Two days before, I told the Bean that it was almost Halloween. He gasped. “It is??”

The Bean began to instruct Sprout in all things trick or treat. “You knock on the door and you say ‘trick or treat.’ You pick out your candy. Sometimes they will just give you candy and you can’t pick. After you say ‘thank you’ and you go to the next house,” he patiently told her. Sprout nodded her head and seemed to get it.

By the third house, she really got it. Though she was struggling to keep up with the Bean. We had met up with a few friends in the neighborhood and the Bean was running a quarter block ahead yelling, “Come ooooon guys! Let’s gooooo!”

Sprout lasted a half hour on the mean suburban streets, dragging her oversized bucket filled with candy lethargically behind her. The Bean and I stayed out for an hour. It took fifteen minutes more to walk back to our house. It took me nearly that long to convince him that it would be okay for me to carry his heavy candy bucket.

The next morning, I awoke to the sounds of rustling. The Bean and Sprout had overturned their buckets and were surrounded by piles of sweets. They were rifling through their spoils, sorting them by color and smelling the candy through the wrappers. Together, they plotted which pieces they would eat that day and what they would eat the day after.

I watched them from a distance, smiling and thinking of the post-Halloween mornings I spent with my sister doing the exact same thing.

Fruit Salad

Like Babe Ruth calling out his shot, the Bean decided in June what he wanted to be for Halloween this year. Apropos of nothing one day he declared, “I want to be a banana for Halloween.”

I had my doubts. Halloween was four months away and I figured that he would decide to be a character from Cars or learn that a from a friend at school was going to be Batman or something and he'd change his mind. However, WonderWife™ was confident in his decision. She recalled how last year the Bean got it in his head very early that he wanted to be a cat, even though at 2 ½, he barely had any idea of what Halloween was all about.

WW™ was right (of course) and sure enough the Bean is going to be a Banana. More than that, he’s also dictated what costumes Sprout and I are to wear. Last year I went as the patient from the game Operation. This year, I have been instructed that I am to be an apple. Sprout is going to be a blueberry. Since the Bean did not chose a costume for WW™, to complete the picture she is dressing as Carmen Miranda.

So if you see a bunch of fruit and a foxy woman in a colorful dress out trick-or-treating this year, you’ll know it’s the Geek Boy clan.

Happy Halloween!

Halloween Comes Early

“Look a ghost!” said the Bean.

It was the first of October and the Bean had seen his first Halloween decoration, a small ghost on the front of a house in our neighborhood.

“Daddy, we need to put our ghost in front of the garage,” the Bean said later that day. “The one that says ‘woooo’.”

I was kind of impressed that a year later, the Bean had remembered that decoration. It was one of those $19.99 specials they sell at Target that makes a "spooky" howl through a tinny speaker. Last Halloween, it completely captivated the Bean. It looked like this year was to be no exception.

Last year was the year that Halloween really clicked for the Bean. He picked out what he wanted to be (a cat) and was exciting to wear his costume. He also fully understood the glory that is trick-or-treating, and ventured up to doorways alone, while I watched from the sidewalk.

So even though Halloween was four weeks away, and even though it was 85 degrees outside (stupid global warming), the Bean and I went outside to the shed, dug out the box of decorations and set up the house. Well in a more accurate way, I decorated while he watched, the whole time asking me dozens of questions that I could not answer. (“Why does the skeleton have green eyes? Why is that [severed] foot all red? Where did the guy with the red foot's body go?”) Afterward, the Bean inspected my work and deemed it spooky enough. He especially liked the ghost that went “woooo”.

We are now officially the first house on the street, probably in the whole neighborhood, to have our decorations up. It’s as if my front yard is a giant neon sign that says a little boy lives here and he is very excited about Halloween.

Happy Halloween

Someday I will do this to my house.



Happy Halloween people!