Halloween 2013 finally happened after two years of blizzards and hurricanes that ravaged the New York Metropolitan area. My three boys represented the holiday well in their costumes. Each costume reminded me how different they are from one another. As I stared at my youngest son in his realistic werewolf costume, his mischievous nature reminded me of myself 'back in the day.' I could only hope he wouldn't suffer the same fate as his 'old man' did, almost twenty-five year's ago. You see, Halloween was different when I was a kid. It wasn't about candy or those raisins that same lame house gave out every year. No, it was all about eggs and shaving cream on Mischief Night. It was always the night before Halloween that would inspire all of my friends to be good all week, in order to meet up for the times of our lives. Being mischievous was second nature to us kids especially in my neighborhood.
Since the statute of limitations has passed, I feel it is safe to talk about it. However, what transpired that cold night has left me scarred for life. I wake up sometimes because of the loud screams, "I got the fat one." These five words replay over and over inside my sleeping head every night. I can only hope by talking about this dreadful experience, I can save one young man from the embarrassment and hurt that lingers even to this very day. October 30, 1988, I was in eighth grade. Mischief night was always a huge night for us. It was the one night, we could pretend to be in the military. There were hand signals and salutes; it was the real deal. We all felt like Navy Seals on a secret mission to reek havoc on unsuspecting neighbors. It was the best time in our young lives.
As I walked up to a large group of younger kids on an unfamiliar block, there was talk within the group about 'egging' the house directly behind us. I had no idea who owned this home or what the target kids name was at the time. Nor did I know this kid was picked on every day of his childhood. So the eggs were launched before I knew what was going on and kids took off in all directions. As the dozen eggs rained down on this house, the bushes in front started moving as the young boy's father was lurking in the front yard. This house was more prepared than we were, I started running and chose the worst path possible. I ran uphill. Now, I left out a little fact, I wasn't the smallest or most nimble kid within the group. I was the biggest in width only. The uphill climb had me wheezing within seconds. The only thing that kept my legs moving was the sounds coming from behind me. The kid's father was hot on my tail and was on a walkie talkie, advising his wife to call the cops, cause, "I got the fat one." Needless to say, I was busted. I ran as far as I could, the cops were called, and I had my first and only juvenile incident. Looking back, because of how the father called me "fat' I wish I had an egg shooter. I would have yoked that house up with eggs a plenty. But, now that I am a Dad, I can see the father's point of view. How much could you take watching your son be tormented on a daily basis? Although, this was my first interaction with this family, it wouldn't be my last. Years later, I became very friendly with that kid. We even worked together as cops later on in my career. We joke about that night till this very day. I am over being called "fat", and you know what, I deserved it. The best time to learn these lessons are when your young. I know I will tell my kids this story as they get older. They have seen those pictures of me from 'back in the day' I can only hope they never hear the screams of someone's father in the night, yelling, "I got the fat one." Lesson learned!