Not so, here at David's house.
We decorated the front of our house two weeks ago, knowing full well that only a handful of people would ever see it. We dutifully raked the leaf-strewn yard all week, before realizing that the leaves were themselves simply trying to get into the act by carpeting our display with fall's pallet. We bought candy and chips. Chose costumes. Carved pumpkins.
We're living on a new street this year, and it already had its own David before we got here. The incumbent David had - also two weeks ago - carefully set up his life-sized Halloween decor, elaborate lighting, and creepy sounds. We spoke - David and David - and conspired that we would each have at least one trick-or-treater drop by on the big night. My one at his house, his three at mine. And we'd commend each other for our setup, have a drink, and toast the greatest night of the year, in a crazy year where the toasts have been too few and far between.
(You can never have too many Davids on your street, by the way.)
The wife had also been conspiring earlier in the week - with parents of the little ones that my little one calls friends - and they held an afternoon scavenger hunt in the nearby park. The reward for the kids? Why bags of candy, of course. The reward for the parents? Their kids' unbridled joy (and a nip of Bailey's in the old hot chocolate).
But with the scavenger hunt over, friends gone home, and dusk falling, it was time to see what the night would bring. We hopped in the car to visit one nearby friend who had also elaborately decorated. Then home for a costume change. And now we waited, primed for some Halloween miracle. Would parents bring their kids around by car, stopping at houses where hard-core Halloweeners signalled their presence? Would small groups come around, foraging for treats? Would someone come? Anyone? Anyone?
Alas, no. The doorbell never rang. The distant sounds of "TRICK-OR-TREAT" never materialized. Our lawn danced with lights and spooky figures, nodding to the most hallowed of traditions, but the gallery was empty. Our jumping spider sat, waiting, for the little foot that would trigger it to pounce...waiting...waiting. But no foot came.
(If you'd like to see a short video of our Halloween display, it's here: https://youtu.be/1VslEF9qXF0).
This David would have none of it, grabbed the daughter, and marched off to the home of the other David. From their lawn, we glimpsed them through the door, getting ready to come out our way. We rang the door and they dropped treats in the little one's empty bag. We retreated to our house, and they marched over to the table we had set up with boxes of chips and chocolate, stood on the welcome mat where the jumping spider's footpad trigger waited, and somehow missed the spot. They happily grabbed their treats as I creepily approached from behind to trigger the spider (scaring only their dog).
The other David told this David that they were going to head out to see who else was shelling out. We decided to join them. Both Davids left their other halves - not better, but other - to guard home base in case an onslaught of laughing children should burst forth from the street (spoiler: it never happened). And off we went.
Turns out, every street had a few 'Davids', sitting around fires, or out on the porch with steaming mugs of what could only be Bailey's and hot chocolate, waiting for kids to come. The were relieved when they saw us and all too happy to generously fill our bags with thankful portions that would otherwise sit alone, uneaten, uncelebrated, for months to come.
Our kids, who barely knew each other at the start of the night, ended the night delighted to have made new friends. They shared the bond of spending a most memorable night together. And of course, they shared the bond of being blessed with their very own Davids, who would not sit by and let the greatest night of the year pass unmarked.
We were safe and careful. We were steadfast. We made the best of a horribly unfair situation. And we created Halloween memories we'll never forget.
Rules or no rules, Halloween rules.
