"He needs a what?"

I had barely walked in the door after a long day's work when my wife bellowed the greeting ... if you could call it that.

I hadn't even been in the house long enough for the dog's tail to stop wagging wildly as she sniffed the smells of freedom on my pant legs.

I wasn't there long enough to check the cupboards for some sort of snack the kids might have overlooked.

I wasn't even there long enough to check the mail for the million dollar check from the Publisher's Clearing House when my wife said, not "Hello honey, how was your day?" or "Hi sweetie, guess what I made you for dinner?," but "Kevin needs a pitchfork."

"A pitchfork?" I couldn't believe my ears. What's this crazy woman talking about?

"Yes, a pitchfork!" she said with a certain displeasure in voice, as if I was the one not making sense. "How do you expect him to look like a devil in the elementary school parade tomorrow without a pitchfork?"

Oh, now it was starting to make some sense. It was Halloween eve, and she was busily putting together costumes for the kids. The older guy, Mike, was going to be a baseball player--that would be easy (a premonition of things to come since he's now a high school baseball coach). The younger one, Kevin, would be a devil, and my wife figured he needed a pitchfork to pull off the disguise.

I knew better.


I thought of the time that Kevin had pulled the sprinkler into the family room (yes, it was hooked to the hose ... and, yes, the water was on).

I thought of how he had so neatly painted the inside of the garage door with the can of brown flat latex the house painter had left us for touch-up work. (Hmm, I'd never considered painting the inside of the door ... and the garage floor!)

And I thought, hey this kid doesn't need a pitchfork to convince anyone he's a devil!

But I figured I'd humor her.

"OK," I said, "so he needs a pitchfork. Why are you telling me?"

She just gave me that look--the look that only husbands get to see. "Because you're going to go get him one, that's why!"

"Me? Why me?" I thought to myself, careful not to express my feelings verbally for fear she might actually hear me.

Geez, I had just gotten home from work (she had too, of course, but I'd worked harder than she did, right?). And all she was doing was making some dumb Halloween costumes. I was going to do something important like watch Wheel of Fortune!

I suppose I went out and got the pitchfork, though. I don't really remember--that was so many years ago when both of the kids needed costumes and both went trick or treating.

Ah, yes, trick or treating. I remember it well. I'd get home from a long day's work, hoping to just collapse in the leather recliner. But before I could even sit down (or, heaven forbid, grab some dinner), my wife was stuffing a flashlight in my hand and throwing a sweatshirt at me, and two kids were dragging me out the front door.

Dazed, I still managed to bark out those adult orders that take so much of the fun out of the trick or treating activity for the kids: "Watch out for cars, stay out of the street, no running, only go to the houses of people we know and stay close to me because I have the flashlight."

And the kids were always good about following the orders ... for about one house! Once they got that first piece of candy in the pillow case, it was every man and child for himself!

Who needs jogging or aerobics? I would spend the next hour and half running through the neighborhood trying to keep up with two kids who each had a different route in mind. They would try to set the modern day record for most houses visited on Halloween night, but I would try to slow them down.

"Wait," I shrieked, "we don't know those people!" They looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. Reluctantly, they moved on down the street.

When they finally wore down, we'd head home and I would carefully check the treats in their bags (though I'm not sure who would check more closely, me going through the kids' candy or them watching me to make sure I didn't get away with a miniature Snickers or Mounds). After missing dinner and racing through the neighborhood with them for hours, do you think they'd share a piece of candy or two with ol' Dad? Well, maybe--if it was something they didn't like.

Things will be a lot different on Halloween night this year, though. The kids are grown men and have been out of the house for many year. So I'll be trying to relax in the leather recliner while watching Wheel of Fortune and jumping up every few minutes to pass out candy to all of this year's baseball players, princesses, Spidermen, and yes, little devils. And I must admit, when I do, I'm sure I'm going to miss my own little devil just a little bit.

Contact Dick Sparrer at dsparrer@community-newspapers.com.