Heads or Tails #12 (Spooky, Scary, Halloween-ish)

It occurred to me that Barb started this "Heads or Tails" project one week too late... wouldn't it be appropriate to be doing Heads or Tails #13 today? (*cue evil laugh and scary music*)

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So: Today's theme is "Spooky, Scary, Halloween-ish."

A couple of my kids, Middle Son and Younger Daughter in particular, are into horror movies. Middle Son has seen the first three "Saw" movies, for example, and he's probably seen "Saw IV" by now, too.

Ick.

I tell them -- you want to be scared? Look in my checkbook... but they don't understand.

But they will. They will. (*cue evil laugh and scary music again*)

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Oldest Son was still in high school and Halloween was approaching. Some bright lad decided it would be really cool to go visit haunted graveyards. (*Have we overdone the scary music already?*)

There's more to the Internet than dirty pictures and blogs, you know. Maybe not a lot more... but, anyway, someone found a website that identified the creepiest, spookiest, most-haunted cemeteries in the Chicago area and a pilgrimage to one of these was suggested.

Various proposals were considered and rejected on the basis of distance... or security. Some cemetery proprietors are not keen on teenagers roaming the premises trying to scare each other; these might summon -- not a spirit -- but the police.

But then the planners found an isolated country cemetery. In the middle of nowhere, a fence that could be readily scaled and easy access to a road in case a quick getaway from frights spiritual or temporal was required. Oldest Son was interested in joining the party... until he found out which cemetery was to be visited.

"Uh, guys," he said, "that's where my grandparents are buried."

I believe an alternate site was decided upon. (*cue "Twilight Zone" music*)

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We have candy ready, for the neighbor kids. And the others.

But it's some of the others who have soured Long Suffering Spouse on Halloween to the point where there's not one pumpkin at our house this year, not one skeleton or witch hung up. My wife has a box of Halloween decorations, including treasures that the kids created when they were little, but they remain tucked away.

Long Suffering Spouse is a junior high teacher at our parish school. All five of our children attended that school. The location of our home is well known.

Somewhere along the line, several years back now, a group of pimply-faced, hormone-laced dweebs decided it would be fun to egg our house on Halloween.

One year I drove on Halloween, intending to come home early to see the kids trick-or-treating. I kind of missed the days when ours were young enough for that. Long Suffering Spouse sewed dinosaur costumes one year that got used by several of the kids when they were little.

Of course, I wasn't as early as I hoped, but as I pulled in across the street I saw a large group of kids coming toward the house. Still in time! I thought. And I got out of the car... and heard *plop*, *plop*, *plop* noises: The little bastards were egging my house.

I put on my best bull rush, roaring like a madman and charged. Unfortunately, I did not pick a particular target. I might have caught one that way; as it was, they scattered successfully.

A couple of teachers' homes got pegged that night, but ours has gotten hit every year since. One year we did ID who'd done it -- and it was high school kids. Ex-students.

Long Suffering Spouse was devastated. "Who am I to them?" she lamented. "Why don't they move on?"

But we both knew the answer: They wouldn'tdare try this at a high school teacher's home. They'd be in serious trouble.

And this time, since we did have a good look, we called the high schools involved... and there were repercussions.

But you know what?

That made them more determined, not less. And more sneaky. We got pegged at 1:00 am once. I did my bellowing bull rush down the stairs and out into the street, barefoot, in my shorts, toward the alley from which they'd no doubt launched their attack.

But I was again unsuccessful.

Another year I waited in the car across the street. Another year we got pegged while I was out at one of my sons' football games, out in the suburbs. The memories of these unpleasant events merge in my mind; I can't separate one year from another.

But Long Suffering Spouse can tell you chapter and verse. Each year. Each egg. And it hurts her terribly.

I'm hoping that the kids who were the most enthusiastic of our tormentors -- now upperclassmen in high school -- will have finally moved on. Maybe they've discovered girls... maybe they're going to haunted graveyards this year....

But they're not that bright.

So I'm not real hopeful.