Frightening children for fun and profit

Halloween may be my favorite holiday, but not for the reasons you might guess.

Yes, there’s candy, and I’m all for that. Yes, there’s a sense of community from all the kiddies and their chaperones prowling the chilly night together. And, yes, it’s a lazy man’s holiday, requiring little preparation, perspiration or shopping.

But here’s the reason I enjoy Halloween: I love scaring the bejeebers out of little kids.

Sick, I know, but I can’t help myself. I get caught up in the spirit of the holiday, wolfing down candy and greeting trick-or-treaters, and next thing you know, small children are running AWAY from my house rather than toward it.

I’m not a nut for Halloween like some grown-ups, those who decorate their yards in fake cobwebs and plastic skeletons and flickering jack o’ lanterns. (See “lazy man’s holiday” above.) I don’t host a “haunted house” where children gross each other out, handling “eyeball” grapes or cold spaghetti “guts.” I never wear a costume myself because a) they don’t make them in my size, and b) I’m scary enough in street clothes.

My Halloween enthusiasms are more spur-of-the-moment, fueled by the traditional sugar buzz and a Pavlovian response to the doorbell. Costumed children show up at my door, and I’m compelled to put a little “boo” in their holiday.

Years ago, when our sons were small, we lived on a street that was so popular with trick-or-treaters that some neighbors were forced to take out home equity loans to fund the annual candy giveaway. I was in charge of answering the door and handing out treats. As the night wore on, I found myself itching to do a little tricking myself. Thus was born the Evil Laugh.

Kids would ring the doorbell. I’d open the door slowly, standing behind it so they couldn’t see who was there. Then I’d unleash the Evil Laugh, which goes like this: “BWAH-hah-hah-ha-ha-ha-HAH.”

Most trick-or-treaters weren’t fazed, but some were startled by the Evil Laugh. Occasionally, terrified kids would sprint all the way to the sidewalk where their frowning parents waited. Those poor children got extra candy, if they could work up the nerve to return to the porch.

A few years ago, my wife brought home a Halloween decoration: A giant, fuzzy, orange-and-black spider. You’re supposed to hang the spider on your door or make it a centerpiece, but I hooked it to the back of my shirt.

I’d answer the doorbell, hand out the candy and then, before the kids could head for the street, I’d turn and ask, “Is there a bug on me?” The shrieks still echo in my ears.

The best one ever was when my kids where in grade school. They had several friends over for Halloween, and my older son led them into his darkened room for a “séance.”

I went outside and slipped around to his window. Just as the kids were fairly certain they were on the verge of conjuring up the dead, I used my fingernails to scratch on the window screen.

That’s all it took. No “boo,” no decorations, no costume. Just scritch-scritch on the screen. Screaming kids nearly killed each other, stampeding for the exits. (Most of them don’t twitch anymore, and their parents have since forgiven me.)

I think word has gotten out about my antics. The number of trick-or-treaters has declined in recent years. Maybe parents are warning each other away from that weird guy’s house.

Good. More leftover candy for me. BWAH-hah-hah-ha-ha-ha-HAH

They call me Mr. Look-at-that

I was born to be a tour guide. Whenever we leave the house, I spend the whole trip pointing out the sights.

Sometimes, it’s informative.

“Look at that,” I’ll say. “Those black rocks originally came from that volcano way over there. Wow, what an explosion, huh?”

Sometimes, it’s sublime.

“Look at that. The way the sunlight plays on the water. Beautiful.”

Other times, it’s ridiculous.

“Look at that. Another chain-saw grizzly bear sculpture!”

And sometimes, sad to say, it’s downright mean.

“Look at the ears on that guy! If he could flap ’em, he could fly.”

It’s not as if other people can’t see these passing sights for themselves. It’s not as if they’re breathlessly waiting for me to show them the next point of interest. In fact, there’s evidence that it gets downright annoying.

“I see it,” my wife says, once she’s had enough. “We can all see it. It’s right there in front of us. We are not blind.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure you were looking over there,” I’ll say. “I didn’t want you to miss that particular cloud and -- Hey! Look at THAT!”

Heavy sighs all around.

My look-at-that compulsion may stem from my decades as a journalist. Newspaper folks are professional observers, relating what others don’t have the time or inclination to go see for themselves. When I see something interesting, I feel I must report back, even if the people receiving the reports are standing right next to me.

The compulsion may go even farther back, to the classroom, where I was one of those kids who always had his hand up, eager to share the (possibly) correct answer with my fellow students. They found it annoying, too, which resulted in bathroom-related hazing and the nickname “Swirly Steve.” (OK, I made up that last part.)

I can’t help it that I’m full of trivia. My brain collects factoids the way pants pockets collect lint. Acting as tour guide gives me a chance to inflict that knowledge on others.

My family doesn’t even bother to do any research before a vacation. They know Mr. Look-at-that will study the travel guides and websites so he can make pronouncements about when a particular monument was erected, the differences between bald eagles and ospreys, or why the native rock is that color. They just go along for the ride, relaxing and taking in the scenery while secretly hoping I’ll run out of steam.

I stand ready for any visitors we get this summer. I’ve got some stuff to show them. Whether they want to look at it or not.

Lasik scare

As someone who's had Lasik, I'm naturally interested in the news stories that suggest that it's more dangerous than we'd all been led to believe. A government panel has urged stronger warnings because a small number of people (reportedly less than 1 percent) who've had the vision-improving surgery report awful problems.

I feel for those people, but I'm not one of them. Lasik has been bery, bery good to me. I wore glasses from the time I was 13 years old until a year ago. My vision is close to 20-20 these days, plus I'm one of the lucky ones who hasn't needed reading glasses (yet). Perhaps that's because my arms are so long...

My only complaint about Lasik is my night vision, which isn't great. I'm still getting some halo effects around lights, particularly if my eyes are dry or tired. Not so bad that I shouldn't be driving, but I limit my night driving, just to be safe.

Otherwise, it's great to go without glasses, though at least one friend thinks my face looks "naked" without them. I can wear cool sunglasses now. I can see when I first open my eyes in the morning (which doesn't stop me from reaching for my glasses; some habits are hard to break).

My eye doctor gave me all the warnings, and every opportunity to back out, but I went ahead and got Lasik. I'm glad I did. I wish it had worked out this well for all Lasik patients.

This . . . Or this?

You know how your eye doctor has you look through different lenses on that optical machine, trying to narrow down the nature of your problem?

"Which is better? A . . . Or B?"
"B"
"One . . . Or two?"
"Two."
"This . . . Or that?"
"Can you do that one again?"


What if your dentist operated this way?

"Here, chew this. Now chew this. Which is better? Hard . . . or soft?"