September 7, 2000

Angel and the Bad Men

by Joshua Carden

Ah, Fall. The time of leaf-changing, weather-cooling (everywhere but Texas), and mid-terms. Also Halloween. For various reasons, my family never did too much at Halloween. My mom generally read us the origins of "All Hallow's Day" the week before, and that was pretty much it. I think we dressed up and went to a church "fall festival" once or twice, but I can only remember "trick or treating" one time. Once was enough.

This year, my grandmother insisted: Maybe I didn't go to school like everybody else, but I was most definitely going trick or treating! I was four or five. My grandmother lived in a pretty nice neighborhood, so my parents reluctantly agreed to let me go door-to-door. Since my dad wasn't into costume-making, mom and Me-Maw turned me into an angel (no comments from the peanut gallery!). Bag in hand, my dad and I set out.

I had done pretty well for myself in a block or two, and we were about to head back to the house when my dad stopped to tie his shoe. I kept moving, counting my wealth, and failed to notice that he had stopped. As I crested a small hill, I passed under a large tree that hung over the sidewalk. At that moment, two young teenagers, dressed completely in black, dropped from the branches and landed in front of me. I have never been so scared in my whole life.

The two boys made frightening sounds. I screamed. I had a pretty healthy scream too. Fortunately for me, my father had just finished tying his shoe. The two boys hadn't noticed him. Heh, heh, heh. My father yelled "HEY!" That was enough. The two boys screamed. They had pretty healthy screams too. My dad was as much bigger than they were, as they were to me, so I think the fright for the night ended up being even all around. They took off like Michael Johnson and Carl Lewis in the 100 meter dash.

We returned to the house - me, secure in the knowledge that my dad would keep me safe, and my dad, figuring out how he was going to talk me out of some of my chocolate. Now you would think that experiences like this would cause me to just hate scaring someone. Sadly the reverse is true. I LOVE scaring people! There are three or four people who have such great reactions when I scare them that I just can't help myself. Let me hasten to add that I do not torment little children. I only scare people within three years of my own age. As you might guess, one of my favorite victims is my brother Jason.

I remember once hearing my dad remind Jason to feed the horses, well after dark. I hurried out and jumped into our old farm truck and rubbed my hands in gleeful anticipation. Jason drove to the barn, parked the truck, and entered the barn. He left the headlights on to illuminate his path until he entered the barn. As the door closed behind him, I jumped out and waited right beside the door, with the truck lights behind me. When he came out, I jumped at him and hollered. In retrospect, I realized that my foreknowledge of Jason's probable reaction, coupled with the truck lights transforming me into a dark silhouette, should have amplified that still, small voice warning me against scaring my hulking younger brother. Thank goodness for Jason's good reflexes. His fist was an inch from my face before he realized his mistake. I realized mine shortly before that. I can't say that I'm completely reformed, but I have sworn off scaring my brother Jason. My new rule is a literal balancing test: Never scare anyone who outweighs me. I've kept it ever since. And don't worry: this Halloween I'll be too busy studying to do any scaring of my own.