"How long until we go trick-or-treating?" Emma wants to know. "Seven more hours," says Mommy. And Ryan steps onto the front porch, shuts the front door, and rings the doorbell. "Trick or Treat," he says and holds out his cloth pumpkin bag.
I couldn't stay to see them all dressed up for the big night, but I did get a preview at school the previous day as they marched around the school grounds in their costumes. Some of the kids were hopping around, sharing giggles and staying in character; one small firefighter was squirting imaginary water at everyone. Emma was in the more serious category, and looked warily at the crowd as the walked by in the procession.
During Em's parade, Ry and I were sitting on a picnic table about thirty feet away, and he was not interested in getting any closer to the crowd. I wondered what he was thinking, as I often do.
Sometimes I get a surprise glimpse of his thoughts, but it's more like poetry than fact, usually more about feelings than about thoughts. That's where we connect -- in the land of feelings and spontaneous play.
He was dressed up as a rooster this year, and sure was cute in it, but he didn't appear to be wondering what anyone else thought. I hope he had fun.
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