Tonight my son and I went Halloweening. He was a Ninja, complete with crossed swords his back, and I was a Dad, complete with ‘watch outs,’ ‘be carefuls,’ and ‘give me one of those candy bars.’ Many people commented on his ninja attire, and he ignored them completely. Amidst the few superheroes, famous actors, and princesses, there were scores and scores of ghosts and demons. They accompanied the walking dead. One yard featured several just-returned-to-life ghouls. It looked like a scene from The Sixth Sense.
I didn’t think much of these supernatural intimations until my son knocked on a door, which had the yes-we’re-open-for-Halloween light burning brightly on the front porch. A man answered and said, “Oh no. We don’t participate in this ritual. One never knows….” I could hear the fear in his voice, so I apologized, and we moved on. My son asked, “Why’s he have the light on if he isn’t participating?” I brushed the question aside as we moved to the next house, where a glaring witch severely looked at my son the ninja and said she could defeat him with her powers. He took the candy she offered, said thank you, and we moved on.
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