No Trick, All TreatMorgan Shanahan
She wanted to wait until dark. All week she talked about waiting until dark, so we held out until dusk arrived, and we started our walk down the street.
Quickly she got the rhythm. House dark? Move along. House with jack-o-lanterns? They were waiting. She was too shy to say the words herself — You tell them Mommy — you ask them Trick or Treat.
And so I did. At each door, Trick or Treat… I’d say, as if I were the one holding out the purple bucket with the embroidered pumpkin. She’d hold it out expectantly as each neighbor oohed and ahhed and asked her if she was a fairy. “Tinkerbell!” she’d announce, no hint of the shyness that prevented her from knocking only moments earlier.
Two pieces of candy at every door. Two pieces of candy as she stood there, her wide blue eyes looking up at them, unsure of what came next. “Okay” I’d say, “say thank you.”
Finally, as her little Tinkerbell shoes clopped and clacked no longer following any beat, she sighed and wondered aloud: “But when are we going to get to someone’s house who is going to invite us in?”
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