The Day After Halloween

Many of you may have already read this - it was written the day after Halloween 2007. My predictions are coming true, but she still held my hand this year. :-)

Day after Halloween

Leaves of gold and orange bathe in the warm sunshine, reflecting God’s goodness. Ever notice how every season has a beauty? Just when you think “this is my favorite,” another color, another hue enters your line of sight, and that season moves to first.

As I crunch in the leaves the day after the night dedicated to candy, I notice remnants of the night before…a red feather off a costume. Was she a diva with a boa frivolously thrown across her shoulder? A cackling witch with feathers peaking from her pointed hat? Or was she a roaring 20s girl with far too much make-up for her age – “Can I ple-e-e-ase wear lipstick, too?”

Next year it will be different. "Can I please go with my friends? We’re dressing as rock stars and boys are coming, too." Next year you will have to hide in the shadows, no holding hands. She won’t sing about Halloween at the top of her lungs as she runs down the street. She’ll want to go to every house, two blocks won’t be enough. Next year when she declares “trick or treat” at the opening of a door, there will be no “twicks” and no “tweats.” She won’t show you every sweet she gets. She’ll barely know you’re there.

Then on the ground lay Superman’s sweatband, a miniature version for a mighty superhero. Did he struggle over which man he wanted to be? Did he look at his muscles, hold in his stomach and stick out his chest? "I want to be strong like daddy!" Did he run through the house with his cape out behind him and jump from his bunkbed, sure he could fly? Next year it won’t be like that. No superheros, no good guys, no conquering evil. Next year is gruesome and gross, disgusting and scary. Next year he’ll go and you pray he’s okay. Next year he’ll hang with some dudes, you’ll wonder what’s a costume and what’s just clothes.

You’ll try to hold on, try to grasp those fleeting moments of childhood. You take photos and laugh. You know you won’t forget how they look tonight, how they sound, what they say. But as you tightly grip, they go on and you’re left with a sweatband in your hand…a red feather floating to the ground…