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E N Q U I R E R   O P I N I O N
Saturday, November 06, 1999

Gracious, polite trick-or-treaters were a delight




BY KRISTA RAMSEY
The Cincinnati Enquirer

        This, along with the Mounds bars and Tootsie Pops, is all I have to give you, Queen Amidala, Fred Flintstone, Mr. Peanut M&M's, assorted witches and one tidy little maid.

        When you stopped by my house last Sunday night, with smiles on your painted faces and pillowcases outstretched, there was something I forgot to say, and it's been bothering me all week.

        Thank you. My pleasure. Come back again.

        For eight bucks' worth of candy, I was treated to an inspiring evening. Despite a few aliens and vaguely reptilian creatures, the human race looked pretty wonderful as it trooped up to my door that night.

        I got good vibes from my earliest band of trick-or-treaters. The candy was plopped into the bags, thank-yous given — and then one very, very small fairy looked back as she danced down my walk. “Have a happy Halloween!” she said with extreme good cheer. And that unprompted bit of genuine courtesy set my universe right.

        Then two junior high-aged boys rang my doorbell. “Thank you!” they said as soon as I opened it. We all laughed. “Sorry, trick-or-treat,” they corrected themselves, then “Thank you,” as the candy hit the bags. So much for the difficult days of early adolescence, I thought, realizing that four parents out there have no idea how well they've done their job.

A pleasant surprise
        Each wave of characters brought more of the same. Children walking up my sidewalk, not rushing through my shrubs. Kids who wanted, and knew how, to make conversation. Gratitude in far greater measure than the meager treats I offered. And all of this done anonymously, under cover of mask and darkness of night.

        The biggest surprise, by far, was the high school students. First, that they were out in such force. They were big kids being little kids for one night, and it made everybody who saw them feel good. They ambled along contentedly, laughing with their friends, talking more than begging, clearly glad for a little down time. “It's OK,” they'd say cheerfully when my candy stock was running low. “You don't really have to give us anything.”

        The fact that every single one said thanks, every single one was polite and no one stomped my peony bush reminded me that there are other ways to measure a kid's achievements besides an SAT score.

        All of this would have simply made for a nice private moment had I not heard the same story from friends on the east and west sides of town. We were all in awe of these anonymous young people's manners, warmth and charm.

"We miss kids'
        Perhaps we are surprised by it because we have allowed stories of violent, angry and rude teen-agers to color our attitude toward American children. And perhaps we are rely on those “stories” because we have so little personal interaction with young people at all.

        You know what? I think we miss kids. We miss seeing our nieces, nephews and grandchildren regularly, knowing the name of every child in our religious congregations. We miss teen-agers who used to have time to sit and talk, but who today carry planners of their own and are always off to a sport or job or lesson.

        And once or twice when I've been around them, I've even suspected they miss us back.

        So later today, I'm taking my own two munchkins out for a movie. And tomorrow at church, I plan to share all those compliments I've been hoarding, letting parents know what wonderful children they're raising, and making sure they pass the message on at home.

        I saw a little slice of life pass by my door last Sunday night. Both the trick-or-treaters and I realized that children can only pause for a moment on our front porches, then they're called to move on and are gone. It's wise to savor those moments while we can.

        Krista Ramsey's column appears on Saturdays. Write her at 312 Elm St., Cincinnati, OH 45202, or e-mail her at krista_ramsey@hotmail.com.

       



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