| All the years of children thrilled by having the perfect | | | | several times as a matter of fact! |
| costume, usually made of flimsy scraps of material. | | | | Suddenly, you're bumped by a tiny locomotive. It was a |
| You pray for Indian Summer to hold on a little longer. | | | | witch, or perhaps a ninja, you're not quite sure. And |
| Of course, the weather turns colder. You find yourself | | | | you hear someone bringing up the rear calling, "I didn't |
| scrambling for ways to add warmth but still show off | | | | hear a thank you at that last one, we'll have to go |
| that perfect costume. The kids dismiss proffered | | | | home if -" You notice the witch-ninja is now diving into |
| coats in horror and you tag along, holding everyone's | | | | your group of candy-seekers, and none of them even |
| coats and praying they don't catch colds. | | | | noticed the rudeness. All eyes are focused on what |
| They run up to the first house, their adrenaline in high | | | | will be positioned over opened bags. Anticipation builds. |
| gear. You see candy making connection with their | | | | The drop is made, score! The pack animals sprint |
| bags. You think you hear a mumble of "thunk ewe" as | | | | across the dewy grass while you head-count to keep |
| they streak across the lawn to the next house. You | | | | track. |
| move forward on the sidewalk, and catch something | | | | You speculate that somehow you've raised heathens |
| that sounds like "tink" and a ghost echoing an "ooooo." | | | | unable to make it in polite society. You wonder where |
| Next house, either the wind has risen or your children | | | | you've failed. You drag your feet as you consider |
| didn't even hiccup a response to the goodies before | | | | what sorry plight befalls your children into adulthood. It's |
| dashing to the next porch light. | | | | definitely all your fault they won't be invited to dinner |
| Time for action! You call out to their little running backs, | | | | with the President. |
| "Don't forget to say thank you!" If you're lucky, one or | | | | And then, you hear it, uttered by the smallest of your |
| two of them has stumbled over a costume hem just | | | | clan. It rises out of an unusually quiet millisecond, and |
| long enough for your words to register. And they're off | | | | rings in angelic tones. "Thank you!" As she balances |
| again. | | | | unsteadily trying to negotiate down a step, you even |
| Is it that you've been remiss in teaching your children | | | | see one of your older children reach out a helping |
| manners? You quail at the thought. No, you distinctly | | | | hand. Ahh, there's hope for them, and you, after all. |
| remember having Ms. Manners discussions with them, | | | | Life is good. |