Do you remember when Halloween was just a night where you got dressed up and rang your neighbor�s bells asking whether they�d prefer tricks or treats? I do. But it�s not like that anymore. It�s a serious business.

Perhaps it�s a regional difference � I spent my prime Halloween years in the northeast U.S., not including a sojourn overseas to a country that thought Halloween was a religious holiday (England/All Soul�s Eve) where we went on our sugar binge in a nearby block of flats that had a large portion of American residents. But here in small-town middle America, Halloween is celebrated over a period of days, if not weeks (don�t let all the Christmas decorations in the stores fool you). AJ�s class at school started manufacturing Halloween decorations at the beginning of October. Our house is covered in assorted art projects featuring pumpkins, bats, scarecrows, moons and ghosts.

This morning I took AJ down to Main Street (yes, that�s actually its real name and yes, sometimes I do think I live in Mayberry) to the annual Chamber of Commerce Trick or Treat to local businesses. It would be a mob scene, if it weren�t so orderly. All the excited kids and their crotchety parents stand in a long, tidy line, walking slowly up one side of the street and down the other. AJ had run out of steam halfway through, so we kept to one side of the street today. He had been very excited about the whole thing when he got up this morning, but when faced with crowds of masked children, most under the age of 6 or 7, he became a little shy and gripped my hand tightly. He got a pretty good haul, though. An assortment of candy and some cookies from the local bakery. We stopped to watch the cheerleaders tossing each other into the air in the middle of the road, which had been blocked off for the occasion with a couple of squad cars with their lights flashing. Then AJ solemnly carried his Spiderman bucket of candy back to the car.

After a brief return to the house for lunch and a pseudo-nap (by �pseudo,� I mean that AJ stayed in his bed for the allotted amount of time, but spent most of that time yelling happily), we headed out for our neighborhood�s annual Halloween party. This year, the party was held by the river and the weather was spectacularly cooperative. You couldn�t ask for a nice fall day. AJ opted for a change of persona and donned his White Sox uniform instead of his firefighter coat for the afternoon. He painted a pumpkin, ate cupcakes with spiders on them, marched in the costume parade along the river�s edge, participated in a mummy wrap race (we lost by a large margin � mostly my fault), came in second in the spider crawl race, and went on a long hayride without parents but with his friend M, who will, from now on, be known as The Girl Next Door (TGND). TGND was dressed as a pink fairy � as were about half the girls in attendance. She may like pink, but she�s no mere frilly girl. She�s exuberant and mischievous, not unlike AJ, although less shy.

While the kids were being towed around the neighborhood by a tractor, several of us parents were standing around making small talk. The sun was sparkling off the river, illuminating the red and yellow maples so they looked as if they were catching fire. The smell of smoke from some distant bonfire hung in the air. Smiling, happy children were playing on the lawn and waving too us from the hay wagon. TGND�s mother turned to me and said, �Sometimes I have to pinch myself so make sure I really live in a place like this.� �I know what you mean,� I replied. �On days like this I sometimes feel like I�ve suddenly found that I�m actually a character in a Frank Capra film.� We both laughed and as further evidence of the storybook quality of the area, I told her the story of how, in one of the first weeks we lived here, I went for a walk around town. As I was heading down the Main Street sidewalk, I found myself suddenly face to face with an upside down boy. He was hanging by his knees from a tree in the adjacent yard. �I�m picking cherries,� the upside-down boy said to me, a total stranger. �Do you want some?�

TGND�s mother laughed at the story and then paused, looking wistful and a little guilty at once. �I know that cherry tree. I�ve picked cherries there myself.� I think I know where TGND gets her mischievous streak.

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