Tricker Treat

I'm sitting here tonight feeling a little bit depressed. I miss my mother and father every day, but tonight, the "missing mommy" gene is on high alert. It may have something to do with it being the weekend before Halloween and I have a table full of tricker treat candy waiting to be put in individual spook- sized bags. I know the correct term for the annual parade of begging is "trick or treat", but my mom was southern and it always sounded like she was saying tricker treat. So, if it was good enough for her, it works for me.

My mother loved Halloween and so did my father. I know for a fact that they would borrow small children to dress up and take trick-a-treating long before I came along. I have pictures of Mother and my cousin Jr going out into the dark scarry night a good two years before I was born. There was no telling how much money Mommy spent on Halloween candy. She would start buying the candy when the first nip of cool air would hit. Of course, we would always eat the first couple of batches long before the end of October was approaching. When it got time to buy "serious" candy, Mother had it honed to a fine art form. Mother would take the bags of candy out of grocery bags and arrange them around her in a circle. She would sit in the circle like a Queen among her subjects. There was an art to filling the treat bags. Each bag had to have a choclate bar, two pieces of gums, a sucker, three peppermints, an Attkinson's peanut butter log, and a bag of Whoppers. Sometimes, the bags would contain more, but never less. As Mother would fill the treat bags, she would eat chocolate, chew gum, smoke cigerettes, and drink an ice-cold coca cola. She was in Heaven! Chocolate, Nicotine, & Caffine - It didn't get much better than that!

Children through out our neighborhood and surrounding ones knew to always go to the big house on the corner with the hurricane fence and the ugly dog. The lady at that house gave out the very best treats and it was worth braving whatever you had to do to get to that door. If it meant you had to talk to the crazy man at the gate (Daddy) for 15 minutes, that's the price you paid to get one of the treat bags that the nice lady handed out.

While my mother loved halloween and enjoyed making up treat bags and giving the candy away, my daddy lived for the night also. He on the other hand was more into the taking end of the holliday. After we had gone to every house in our neighborhood, Daddy would load us into the back of the truck and off we would go to the big rich neighborhood down the highway. Of course, we stopped up and down Tioga Road, dodged cars, dogs, and eggs as we ran through people's yard screaming "Trick or Treat, Smell My Feet - Give Me Something Good To Eat." Daddy would stop the truck in the middle of the road and dare anyone to hit him. His theory was that the truck was acting as a slow down measure for the other drivers on the road. If they had to stop to go around him, we had a better chance of not getting run down in the middle of night dressed up as pumpkins. It made perfect sense to us. Daddy would have been willing to drive us all over hell's half acre to gather candy, but Mother always gave him a curfew. When it got close to curfew time, we would start back home. Sometimes, we would take our masks off and have another go at the neighbors who might not recognize us. If they did recognize us, we would tell them we were gathering candy for Daddy. They would look at him and he would wave and smile. It worked every time.

I'm wondering if Halloween is celebrated in Heaven. I know the gory part of it is probably overlooked, but I hope Mother's getting the chance to make treat bags and there's a truck-load of kids waiting for Daddy to drive them to the rich people's houses.

Crack For Breakfast

Today has been a very interesting day for me. My kids at school apparently have been eating crack for breakfast. Try to picture fourteen special ed 7th graders on crack. They wouldn't be able to sit still; they wouldn't be able to be quiet; they wouldn't be able to write a legible sentence; and they would invariable drive their teacher crazy. That was the scene in my first block class this morning. The morning started off calmly, but it wasn't long before all hell broke loose and the crack kicked in. I found myself saying things like "No, don't put your pencil in the electric socket; No, you can't go to the bathroom, office, gym, next door, lunch room, nurse's office, guidance counselor, etc; Yes, you know how to write a sentence; Put your shoes back on; Don't touch your neighbors; and Yes, you are getting a grade for the assignment" all to one student in the span of 15 minutes. I kid you not, "crack for breakfast." I'm not going to lie to you, all middle school students can have their off days, but for the entire class to hink up at the same time leads me to believe someone's uncle is a crack dealer and is missing part of his stash. I'm seriously thinking of making a suggestion to my principal that would make days like today go by a lot smoother. I'm thinking that every teacher's lounge should have a valium or xanex lick next to the copy machine. It could be like the salt lick that cows and deer love so much. Whenever a teacher is having a bad day, he or she could just go by the block and take a lick or two. It would sure make teaching a more enjoyable experience. Of course I can't really suggest this, seeing as how I'm pretty sure I couldn't make it in the pen, but I can dream.