Pint-sized pirate robs his mom on Halloween

by Deborah Parkhill Mullis

I began looking forward to Halloween last year because my son, Justin, was big enough to be taken door to door - it was going to be his first real Halloween.

Considering just what Justin should be on this special occasion brought back memories of my old candy haunting grounds in North White Plains, New York - not far at all from Sleepy Hollow.

My neighborhood had twenty-some-odd split-level homes - some odder than others - lining one acre wooded lots along Whitewood Road. And there was no contest in this neighborhood - the oddest and best Halloween house on the block belonged to Carol and Dicky Lorenz's parents.

Every year Mrs. Lorenz would dress up like a witch and invite us trick-or-treaters into her living room which was filled with creepy cobwebs, spooky spiders and of course lots of candy. She would start stirring a cauldron of bubbling brew and recite incantations and a great cloud of gray mist would seep forth and surround us.

Mr. Lorenz, a somewhat shyer spirit than his wife, could be found cowering in the foyer beneath a white sheet, babbling like Cousin It as we came and went. It's a fond childhood memory, although I have come to realize it was dry ice that created that mysterious gray mist and not that Carol and Dicky's mom really was a witch of the Elizabeth Montgomery variety.

I remember carving Jack-o-lanterns with my grandfather and the elaborate costumes my friend, Susie, and I had thanks to the creative powers of our parents.

I went from being a fairy princess one year to being a witch the next. Then I was a matador, a princess from India, and finally a full-fledged bum, resplendent in my elephant bell bottoms, my grandfather's flannel shirt and his old ivy league dress cap.

Yes, my jaunt from door to door with Justin was going to be the next best thing to reliving those happy days of my youth.

In mid-October, I began practicing with Justin, so that come October 31, he would be well-rehearsed in the ritual ringing of the door bell and saying, "Trick-or-Treat." The door bell ringing came easy, but pronouncing trick-or-treat was a bit more challenging. But not long before the much anticipated night, he finally got it!

Glowing jack-o-lanterns beckoned from front porch stoops as dusk fell upon us that fateful night. All decked out in a pirate costume with a red bandana on his head, purple eye-shadow blackening one eye, toy musket in one hand and pumpkin pail in the other, my little trick-or-treater started down the street.

Following him with flashlight in hand, the search began for sweets and the Carolinian counterpart of Mrs. Lorenz. I had planned on Justin hitting at least eight to ten homes in our neighborhood - not quite the number I had done in my youth but he was, after all, only two - before heading over to the local mall to check out the competition in a costume contest. Justin's first Halloween was going to be a great one!

Or so I had thought. Would you believe that less than ten minutes into the trek and after only two Tootsie Rolls, one Reese's Cup, and a quarter, my little pirate pooped out? Two houses ... only two houses and Justin was fast asleep at 6:30 p.m. This same child who tried to stay up until midnight on many an occasion could not be roused.

True to the pirate profession, I had been robbed. I guess my excitement was just too much for him!

(This essay was published on 10/23/90 by The Enquirer-Journal in Monroe, NC)