The Sweetest Candy...Admitting The Truth...

     We were sitting around the supper table and, having just finished a lovely supper, I announced 'that bit of halibut was good enough for Jehovah!' (Made you look) Really we were all sitting at the table and the belching began. I am so glad that the kids are finally beginning to embrace their bodily functions.
      Isobel: "I'm so full..wait a minute. BURRRP! OK, now I can eat some more."
      Daddy: "Nice."
      The Boy: "BElllllCCCCHHH!"
      Mrs. Narrator: "That one shook the house."
      Daddy: "Nice Out!"
      Isobel: "Are you aware that you didn't say excuse me?"
      The Boy: "Are you aware that you are kicking my leg?"
      Daddy: "Are you aware that you have a milk moustache?"
      The Boy: "Yes, I grew it for Movemeber."
      Daddy: "Did you? Well done then,  touche'."
      Isobel: " Yeah, Cliche'!"


      I remember when I was younger I was told (likely by my grandmothers, both of whom were authorities on these kinds of things) 'The worst thing anyone will ever say to you is no.' I didn't really get it then. I thought who in the hell is going to keep saying no to me? If I can find them early enough, I could make friends with them and then I wouldn't have to hear no ever again. Happy life, right?
      It was meant more as one of those woodsy wisdom things that grandparents impart on their grandchildren, about facing ones fears. I, like a good many children my age, was afraid of a good many things. I was petrified of the unknown and doing new things and meeting people and all of those other things that children and folks and people go through everyday with fear and loathing and a gigantic sense of dread. To their credit, my parents and grand parents never pushed me to do things that I wasn't comfortable doing. There wasn't a lot of venturing outside the bubble. I don't regret it but I do feel I probably missed out on a bunch of stuff because I was just too afraid to try it. Well into my twenties, I still had friends talk to girls for me because I was too afraid to try and break the ice.
      Anyway, this isn't about my awkward childhood...we'll save that for a different blog. I have always tried to get the kids to try new things, to face their fears and The Boy has always been pretty good at it. There were a couple of times where he may have hesitated slightly but he was and is a 'jump in with both feet' kinda guy. I envy him for it. I suspect his mother was much the same as a kid.  Ah but Izzy is mine all mine. We all know how she was on the first day of kindergarten, not to mention how I was. I have always tried to get her to step outside of the comfort zone and it's hard. You don't want to badger them into trying something new and then it turns out to be a shite experience but just the same, you don't want them to miss out on life either.
      So this Halloween, it was just Izzy and I. The Boy decided he was just too Minecrafty for trick or treating and so stayed home. (much to Mrs. Narrator's delight) I remember from years past that there was a house, my favourite, that was rife with electronic scary ghosties and ghoulies and things that howl and scream as you walk by. I love this place. it looks like Halloween when I close my eyes. This house has scared the holy jesus out of Isobel for as long as we have been trick or treating in this neighbourhood. I have never been able to get her to go up the drive way, much less go to the door.
      "You know what I know?" I asked her as we were walking door to door, quite a ways away from the super scary house.
      "What, Daddy?" she asked.
       "I think that when you face up to the things that scare you most, then you get a gigantic reward."
       "What do you mean?" she asked. "What do you get, like a present?"
       "Kind of," I said. "You beat something that you were scared of and you get to know that as long as you live, that you will never be scared of THAT thing ever again."
        "Huh?"
       "Are you afraid of going to any houses tonight?" I asked her.
       "Just the one with the witch thing."
      "I'll bet if you go to the door of that house, that candy will be some of the best candy you have ever had."
      "Really?" she asked.
      "Really." I said.
      "What if I am too scared?" she asked.
      "Well, I won't make you go if you are too scared but then your fears win. It's important to face your fears. That's how life starts to get great, when you aren't afraid to try and do things."
      It sounds terribly Ward Cleaver and gigantically cliched I know, but word for word, that was pretty much how the conversation went.
      We walked in silence for a bit, feeling the mist on our faces. She decided that she would hit one or two more houses and then we would go home. Missing the scary house. I admit I was a little disappointed but the scary house was a real fear and it was a big one. This could go colossally wrong if I forced her to do anything.
      "OK, Pick." I said.
      She went to her last couple of doors and we were headed to the car.
      "Daddy! Look!" she yelled.
     There was a giant face with light up eyed hanging from a tree (It bore an uncanny resemblance to Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein) it cackled a laugh that sounded more like a cough than it did scary. She stared at Marty Feldman for a while and then said;
      "One more house and then let's go home." It was the scary house.
     The witch was on the porch...under a makeshift garbage bag awning to protect her from the incessant mist.
      "What are you dressed as?" asked the man who answered the door.
      "Zombie cheerleader." said Isobel barely above a whisper."
      The man put some candy in her sac and she started moving quickly off the porch.
      "This is the first year that she has ever wanted to come to this house, your stuff is normally too scary. This is a really big thing for her, so thanks. " I said to the man.
      "Come back," he motioned to Isobel.
      "It's OK, honey." I said.
      She walked back up on the porch and stood beside me. The man took two very large handfuls of candy from the bowl and put them in her sac.
      "Good for you," he said to Isobel. "Happy Halloween."

      We didn't say a word to each other all the way back to the car, mostly because it was really damn cold and we wanted to get in the heat but I could see a small grin growing on her face as we walked. By the time we got to the car I figured I should say some thing fatherly about facing her fears. I didn't get the chance.
     "I DID IT!" she shouted to the empty parking lot..


      I have come to many realizations in being a parent and at 44 years old I have boiled it all down to this. I have long since reached the zenith of what ever 'cool' I ever had AND that I will loose said cool exponentially, the older my children get. My parents may have been cool at one point but they are about the furthest point from cool...they are the Pluto of cool. As their parents were to them and I will be to my children...rather as I am already becoming to my children. Sad but true my fellow, fading hipster parents.
     Now bearing all that in mind I have come to this gigantic realization. At 44 years of age, I am sicktogoddamneddeath of being cold. Leather jackets look cool and hip but they don't keep you warm for shit. If you want to stay warm in a leather jacket, you pile layers of clothing underneath you until you look like Randy from A Christmas Story.
      And so dear friends, I have decided it is time to by a proper winter coat. I have lived in Canada for all but 11 years of my life and I have spent all 44 years in the Northeast. I don't think I have had a proper winter coat since I was in grade school. I'm starting to think cool has always been a euphemism for pneumonia. I am willing to entertain suggestions for stylish, yet functional winter wear and I will be having a candle light memorial for my leather jacket which I will bury in the backyard next to half a cat...kiss my ass winter.