The march of time:
The real Halloween horror By Robb Murray
T
he other night I watched what was, to me, the scariest film I’ve seen in years. And I was part of the supporting cast. It was a simple home movie. A happy family carving pumpkins on the kitchen floor. My daughter was 7. My son was 4. Me, I was 40 pounds lighter, 40 shades less gray and still looked ... OK. And my wife and I were negotiating through what would appear to the untrained eye the most hilarious eight minutes of home video we have. It is the only known footage of my daughter, Emma, having a tantrum. Why the tantrum? It’s simple. She wanted to carve the image of a mouse into the last remaining pumpkin we’d lugged home from Jim’s Apple Farm. Or was it Kopischke’s Pumpkinland? Doesn’t matter. Point is, she’d already carved two and was intent on carving a third. That pumpkin, however, wasn’t hers to carve; it was her little brother’s. She was obstinate, though, and we were at an impasse. Being good parents, we fashioned a compromise: We’ll let Sam do his Spider-man eyes, and let Emma designed the nose and mouth. She refused. And what followed was an unforgettable stream of finger pointing, exclamations of hate, bold predictions of finally striking off on her own, and threats to destroy not only the evidence, but also the equipment used to make it. Eight minutes of pure gold, all caught on tape. So why have I filed this home movie in the “horror” section of my private collection? As you all know, Halloween is approaching. And there are few holidays I like more than Halloween. I love everything about it; 24 • october 2012 • MANKATO MAGAZINE
disguises, candy, walking dark streets filled with kids finally getting to experience the night they’ve waited months for. I love it all. But as I watched that film, I suddenly remembered a bit of sad news I’d gotten the other day. Emma informed me that one of her friends would no longer be joining the annual trick-or-treat caravan we assemble for our evening in lower North Mankato. I know, I know. She’s 15. By 15, a lot of kids have long since given up that rite of fall. But she’s not just any kid. She’s MY kid — a kid who has had anxiety attacks in the past because she doesn’t want to grow up. Worse yet, I’m the most emotional person I know. The March of Time is my worst enemy. As much as I look forward to those milestones in life and celebrate them — driving, starting high school, etc. — they also scare the hell out of me. Watching that film and hearing the news made me think back a few years. We’ve always taken Halloween pretty seriously around here. And, thanks to my wife the costume architect, the kids have rarely gone with ordinary costumes. Last year, Sam reprised his role as a giant eyeball, complete with veins and that red stuff that apparently attaches the eye to the rest of the head. He’s also gone as a box of puppies, he being the big puppy in the middle of the box with a passel of other puppies tucked all around him. One year he insisted on getting a “real costume,” the kind you get at the store. He opted for the guy from “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” I had to admit, it was pretty good. And although his mock chainsaw irritated his buddy, Noah, I thought it was awesome. My daughter last year went as a sack of money. At first, it