Hey, Mamalou!

…and I will admit that I have the registration form halfway filled-out, but I’m actually not in the club yet. I’m talking about the Laziest Parents in America, who were out in force on Halloween night. I’m extremely opinionated, judgemental, and sometimes unsympathetic, but I mostly keep my thoughts to myself because I also really want to be liked. However, let’s go ahead and talk about lazy parents for a second, because anyway what are they going to do?

Here’s where I come from– I do find it to be a wedgie-grade PIA if I have to park past the second shopping cart corral at either of the two places in town that have shopping cart corrals. I like walking to the park and the library, but I’m pretty quick on finding any excuse to drive instead– “I don’t want to walk to the library today,” is one example. I routinely balance the phone, random toys, the mail, two or three half-empty coffee cups, a cat, and at one time a baby in my laundry basket (on top of the largest load of laundry that would fit in the washer and dryer) just so I would only have to take one trip back up the stairs. So I’m gonna go ahead and talk about lazy parents from the standpoint that I am one but I’m about to leave the fellowship.

Our street is a quiet, straight, fairly narrow little lane in an established neighborhood. Think mature trees, several layers of asphalt, decades-old encrustations of lawn ornamentation, and lots of families with teenagers that have to park their cars in the road. My four-year-old and I went all the way up to the seven or eight house stretch of road I think of as Dually Park (because the teenagers in these particular houses all own large trucks or twenty-year-old Broncos– except for one who drives a battered old Civic, poor kid– and they have to park in the street, since their dads’ boats and spare duallies are parked in the driveway.) You see, the Spooky House was up past Dually Park. On normal days, if two cars are trying to get up and down the street at the same time and they meet at this quarter-mile stretch of road, one has to pull over either before they enter the Chevy Gauntlet, or duck into a space between the trucks if they’ve already committed themselves somewhat to the course. Usually, we residents yield right of way based on a complicated formula that involves figuring out who has more trucks parked on their side of the road, who could reasonably pull in behind a few of them before they collide with the oncoming car, who is the more articulate gesturer, and also who got there first… although in practice it often just boils down to who has the larger automobile and possibly bigger/more numerous cajones and would use the combination to happily drive right over you.

Our plan was to hit the half-dozen neighbors that we knew, take their candy, and then head home, because Little Bot likes answering the door and giving out our candy almost better then going out and getting it from others. But we had to go all the way up the street, because the Spooky House was up there– the one that has been decorated for Halloween since the Fourth of July, and which we’ve driven by at least twice a day every day for weeks (it’s been too hot or cold or rainy or windy or Thursday lately to walk.) Little Bot was convinced that this was going to be the height of the evening.

My mom or dad used to accompany us when we went trick-or-treating until we were old enough that they didn’t care whether or not we returned. All parents stalked their various issue from the peace and tranquility of the road, as said issue scrambled through bushes, gnome villages, and expensive landscaping to go from door to door. We would often see them talking among themselves, calling out the ancient greetings of the old, and we wondered for not one second if any of then actually enjoyed following us around for two hours in the stinking cold nor if this was one of the most poignant aspects of parenthood that could later be used as a metaphor or something in a story we would write when we reached out thirties, too. (We were busy garnering candy and keeping it away from the gnomes.) That was just part of the Halloween culture, I think– walking around after your kids.

Because the other part of the tradition involved Not Driving Anywhere For Any Reason. My parents stockpiled food and videos for the entire month of October because No One Drives Their Car On Halloween Night. It was considered to be, well, impolite. The night belonged to the kids– the best way to avoid hitting a trick-or-treater is to keep your car locked in the garage. (And that way only your garage door gets egged, as a bonus.) We once lodged a flashlight into our jack’o'lantern because my parents couldn’t find a candle adn weren’t going out to get any– my dad said authoritatively, “Nobody in their right mind goes anywhere on Halloween night!”

So imagine my surprise when around seven-thirty our entire street clogged up with parents stalking their offspring– in their cars. My husband I noticed a few parents driving around after their kids last year, but it was stinking cold that Halloween. This year, it was stinking hot. Some of the trickertreaters had given up essential parts of their costumes in order to wear shorts and sandals. But there was still a car-to-kid ratio of at least 3:4, not counting the unaccountably rude neighbors who went out for pizza or to visit sick relatives in the hospital or whatever on Halloween Night and then actually wanted to get back to their houses.

Dually Park was a disaster. Through the glaring high-beams that totally ruined our night vision, my son and I nevertheless saw several contenders for the award for the Most Persuasive Gesticulations ruthlessly going for the gold in front of a G-rated audience, and we saw many drivers totally blow their chances by giving up gestures for even more articulate yelling.

What would persuade a responsible adult to put themselves in this kind of situation? It’s dark, there are children scampering hither and yon, many without adequate all-wheel-drive supervision, you’re crawling down the road at three to five miles an hour as your brakes slowly turn into fission reactors, and you can’t see (although you have your suspicions about) the articulate gestures of the drivers around you because, again, it’s stinking dark.

I understand that a lot of people drive into town to let their kids trick or treat. So, there are three business parks less than a mile from our house– right in our neighborhood– with parking lots that are completely empty after five o’clock. Other neighborhoods in town have similar set-ups. I also understand that (and actually sympathize here) some parents may have back injuries or other conditions that would prohibit walking around for a couple of hours.

But really– that many cars, and each one with a doctor’s note? Can we park the cars for just one night a year, get our asses OUT of them, and spend a couple of hours with our kids? Just one night! Maybe they’ll even let you have the candy they hate! I did it, and not only did I score a bunch of Starburst, I had a blast!

Because not only was I accompanied by the best and funniest little boy in the world, the Spooky House TOTALLY ROCKED!