Fall

The air is fresh and crisp; when you walk you hear the crunching of dry leaves. It gets dark early now, so you've got to stay close to home in the evening; you've got to be in the house doing homework or watching the Flintstones on TV. On the weekends you play hide and go seek in the evening, and your cheeks are red from the cold. There's a smell in the air that wasn't there before, it's a freshness mixed with dying leaves and the smoke from burning them in the street. When you mow the lawn for the last few times the grass is wetter, the smell is sweeter. I wear flannel shirts and corduroy pants now, and a baseball jacket to ward off the Autumn chill.
When I run with Whee-Zee my eyes water from the sting in the air, and we all "blow smoke" with our breath as we wait outside the school.
Halloween is coming, and we pick out costumes, and dream about how much candy we'll haul. The candy is important, yes, but the real joy, the real thrill about Halloween is having your friends and neighbors try and guess who you are. You see, we're allowed inside, we've got a slower pace, and we want to know if we can fool everybody. We're here to trick, as well as treat.
"Do we know you?", they ask.
"Are you from this street?"
They note your body language and listen as you try to disguise your voice. The questions continue until somebody laughs a familiar laugh and the jig is up, or you've completely fooled your temporary hosts of the moment. I'd fool a lot of people in 1960. My mother would make a Raggedy Ann costume that covered your entire body, and nobody would believe that an almost nine year old boy would dress up like a girl's doll. Mom's costume would work great that year, and it kept me really warm, too. I had trouble seeing through the gauze in the eye holes, but what kid could see wearing those plastic face masks that had sharp edges and always seemed to be sliding around your face? We'd visit people close to home, down Walnut and up Lake, maybe a few people we knew on Glassboro Road, then back down Lake to Walnut and Glenwood and then home. Dad would have to stay home if he wasn't working; someone had to hand out the candy. We'd get home early so we could have a chance at handing out candy and guessing who ourselves; besides, you weren't allowed to pig out on everything anyway. I'd spread out my loot with my brother in our bedroom, looking for the best stuff, the REAL STUFF, you know, CHOCOLATE!! Hershey bars and Milky Ways and Three Musketeers. Forget that candy corn crap, I wanted the hard stuff, milk chocolate, and not that strange dark kind either. After assessing our hoard, Mom would confiscate it and dole it out a little at a time. At the end of the evening, the black kids from Jericho and New Sharon would swarm in, wearing old sheets as ghosts, or no costumes at all and carrying pillowcases loaded with candy. One day of the year we'd all be friendly; we'd all share a laugh, we'd all be people again.
After Halloween thoughts were turning towards Thanksgiving and Christmas, and for me a birthday. Would we have Thanksgiving at Aunt Bette's farm again, and what really neat present should I ask for for my ninth birthday? When will the Sears catalog come out, so we can all start wishing for everything inside? Will Mom have another toy demonstration again, so we can get some of those little paper cups filled with nuts and mints and M&Ms?
Will Kennedy be president, or will it be Nixon, and will the Russians make any more trouble for us?
It's that time of year, it's hustle and bustle, and it seems like Christmas will never come. We dream deep dreams. We dream of turkey and presents and the smell of pine. We dream of snow days and ice on the lake, and Christmas vacation that will be better than the last.
We march on through these last few months, with children's hopes and children's prayers.
And sweet fresh air and apple cheeks.
And the crunching of the leaves.