MONSTA went out on Monday. She was an Angel, which is pushing it if you ask me. For her first Halloween, she was a devil. Five years later, an angel. I guess that Catholic-school education wasn't a total wash. We went to Sunnyside Gardens in Queens, which is like a tiny English village plunked down a few miles from Times Square. It's a great place for T&T. Lots of good candy (read: not Tootsie Rolls or those hard strawberry things), fun decorations, and happy candy givers. That seems to be key. No matter how top of the line the candy is, no one wants to take it from a jerk.
But the older she gets, the more cautious I become. I guess it's one more change that comes with age. When I was young, Halloween meant complete freedom. Dress how you want. Stay out a little late. Get an apple that may have a razor blade? Caution to the wind, baby - we're rolling the dice! But from the other side - the guardian side - it's fun, but there are worries. How many Whoopers are too many Whoopers? Where the hell am I going to find her a bathroom in this place? Should we be taking candy from a grown man wearing a shirt and tie with Tevas? For this last type, my friend and I played a game. She'd have her Blackberry out, and when a Senor Creeperton answered the door, I'd call out the address and say "Run it!" We never did, but I can guarantee a couple hits.
Being the adult does, however, have one benefit: you are now what Marx would call "management." While I did have to walk around with MONSTA and supervise, I'd hardly call that work. She had the real job. And yet now, because of her toil and sweat and demanding of strangers, I'm sitting on a stockpile sweet, delicious candy. Sour Patch Kids. Starburst. Candy Corn/Pumpkins. All the hits! And because she's only five, I can take as much of it as I want. And if she doesn't like it, well, there's always the gulag, or as we call it, the time out chair. Ah yes, it is good to be on top.