Most people who lived in the USA as children have fond memories of Halloween. One of mine is of going as Robin Hood, being mistaken to Peter Pan, and then threatening to ‘steal from the rich’ and ‘give candy to the poor’ with my bow. Dad wouldn’t let me carry the arrows, he was afraid I might use them. There was also the famed ‘Harpo’ costume, which at 9 years old, flopped with my friends and confused adults. I went as a detective, an elf, a bee, a devil, and so on and so forth.
Out American youths are spent dreaming up costumes and playing around with our friends. Getting these costumes made is something we begin in September (or even the November before) and we gear up everything. Halloween, the pagan/wiccan holiday, is the only comercialized holiday that I embrace. I love its pomp and floof. It’s a holiday everyone can love, it’s no longer religious (except when people make it be so) and it’s just a gret excuse to dress up and be silly. What’s not to love?
Well, I’ll tell you what’s not to love! The reckless, senseless, murdering of pumpkins.
That’s right. Everyone out there who thinks, at about one in the morning, that it’s a good idea to go up to the roof of your building and chuck a poor, defenseless pumpkin off the roof is a cold hearted, pumpkin killing bastard!
What did that pumpkin ever do to you? It let you scoop out it’s innards without complaint. And those insides? They let you make pumpkin pie, or roast the seeds to munch on later. Then you got to draw on it, selecting your artwork carefully and carving out a shape for your own amusement and humor. Some were scary, some were pretty.
But then, you, drunk off your ass, went to the roof and hurled the beautful work of art over the wall, letting it plummet fourteen stories to it’s untimely death.
And this morning, as I went to work, I stepped outside to see it’s poor remains scattered across the sidewalk and street. The Chicagoans ignored the ignomius death, stepping over and around the pulpy remains, moving on their way to there offices and places of employment.
I removed my hat to pay homage to the tragedy. Alas, poor pumkin. I knew you- Hey! HEY! That’s my bus! WAIT!