Friday Night

Friday night was trick or treating - having been pushed back a night by a threatened storm which barely managed to materialize. By Friday evening the little rain that came through on Thursday was gone, leaving clear November skies and a bitter November wind - perfect for walking the dark streets of the neighborhoods on the outskirts of town.

Before we left on our adventure, I gently suggested to Sam that maybe it was time we considered shortening our trick or treating a bit by cutting out some of the "less productive" areas we typically visit. And pretty much like every year that I've made this suggestion, this insane idea was discarded, though not immediately.

Sam's perfectly happy to entertain the idea cutting it short, even going so far as to say it sounds like a good idea. But when we get into the nuts and bolts of it, what it boils down to is that, a) it's a great idea, and b) he's perfectly happy to cut it short - as long as we can still visit all the same houses that we visited the year before.

In the end, all of this is fine with me. But I wonder how long the various houses will put up with a young adult knocking on their door for candy.

And the thing is, I'm not entirely sure what Sam gets out of all of this. He definitely isn't doing this for the candy. His bag from last Halloween had to be emptied of all the year-old candy before he took it out again this year - which, by the way, is the same routine as the year before, and the year before that, etc., etc., etc...

Whatever his reasons, at least it gets us out of the house - so there's something to be said for that. And we get to spend some time together, walking around, occasionally chatting - so there's something to be said for that, as well.

So, the routine is that after dinner and after last year's candy gets dumped, Sam gets dressed in his costume, we both grab a flashlight and then we head out in the car to the outskirts of town.

When we reach one of the neighborhoods, we park at the edge of the long, dark road, and Sam and I get out and walk around. My flashlight is usually off, but Sam's flashlight is usually on - though shining in every direction except where he's walking.

As we walk the dark neighborhoods, we appraise each house: is there anybody home - and if they are home, does it look like they want any trick or treaters? For most houses, this is pretty straight forward. Car in the driveway? Check. House lights are on? Check. Porch light is on? Bingo! Go for it.

If the lights are off and the house is dark, we let it go (and I, at least, make a mental note of the house and wonder silently to myself, what's wrong with someone who can't be bothered to hand out candy to someone who isn't interested in eating it?).

Every so often, we come across a house which is hard to judge. Sometimes, there are lights on in the back of the house but no porch light is turned on. Sometimes, there are walkway lights on, yet the house is dark inside. Last year, we came across a house that was completely dark inside - but it had, not only walkway lights turned on (granted, they were pretty dim), but it also had what appeared to be a pumpkin sitting on their porch. What does this mean?

Sam and I stood in the dark street, staring at the house. After some discussion, Sam thought it was worth trying, so I stayed at the edge of the lawn, like usual, while Sam, with his flashlight swinging in all directions, went up to the front door, like usual.

First, Sam tried the doorbell. Nothing. Then he tried the doorbell again. Nothing again. Then he tried it again. Still nothing. Then he started knocking on the door. I'm at the edge of the lawn telling him that there's nobody home and let's move on, but Sam wasn't giving up. He's still knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell.

Finally, after not getting any action, but still not convinced that no one was home, Sam goes over to their living room window and starts shining his flashlight into their dark house. Whoa! Time to move on, Sam!

Needless to say, this opened up a little discussion.

This year, we again came upon the same house. Like last year, the house was dark inside. Also like last year, the same dim walkway lights were turned on. There was even what could have been the same pumpkin sitting on the front porch.

Just as we had before, Sam and I stood in the darkness at the edge of the lawn, and looked up at the house.

"What do you think?" I asked Sam. Sam stared up at the house and thought for a bit. Finally, he said, "Maybe we should skip this one."

So we turned and walked on, continuing silently down the long, dark road together, looking for more opportunities, while Sam flashed his flashlight in every possible direction.