There are kids staggering around like zombies in a bad movie.

It’s Halloween.

Kids are wearing plastic masks that make breathing and seeing difficult. I feel sorry for the kids who wear glasses. They keep running into trees and poles as their spectacles fog up inside the masks. All that pain to get fun-sized candy bars. Fun for whom? They are one-bite wonders.

My name is Friday.

I’m a kid.

I was born on a Thursday but my parents like Fridays better. It’s the whole TGIF thing. I guess there was an old TV show or movie about a guy named Friday who was a police officer. For some reason, my parents are always telling me to say, “Just the facts, ma’am.” Sheesh! I wonder if adults ever grow up?

I’ve been Spider-Man and I’ve been Batman. I was going to go as a gasoline pump this year, but then gas prices went down. I tried to convince my mother that it would still be frightening if I dressed up like a gas pump smoking a cigarette.

That was the wrong thing to say. I’ve never smoked a single cigarette in my life, but Mom enrolled me in a program to help me stop smoking. I like the gum.

I wanted to go as something called a Republican or a Democrat because they really scare people, but I’m not sure what a Republican or a Democrat is.

Then I thought I’d go as a Minnesota Viking. I gave up that idea when my father told me that I would have to wear my helmet backwards so that everyone would know I was a Viking and that would make it dangerous when crossing the street or attempting to catch a football. Mom says that Dad has a love-hate relationship with the Vikings. She says it’s like me and Molly, the blonde girl who sits across from me in school. Then she smiles and says something about knowing me better than I know myself. I have no idea what Mom means, but it makes her happy to say stuff like that. I wonder if all Moms are as goofy as mine?

Grandpa said I should have gone as a $10 bill. He said that I wouldn’t have to leave the house because $10 doesn’t go far these days. Grandpa spends a lot of time talking about the good old days. I think the good old days were when Grandpa wasn’t always good and he wasn’t old yet. Grandpa used to go trick-or-treating with me. He didn’t dress up, but he would threaten people who answered the door that he had photos of them in compromising positions and that he knew where the bodies were buried. He was crazy, but I got a lot of candy. He’s not with me this year. He said that he had to stay home and take his new recliner for a cruise.

My little brother went as a vampire. Grandpa said that he looked like Lawrence Welk. Lawrence Welk was a guy my Grandpa had to watch on TV when he was my age. Anyway, my brother pretended he was a vampire. Then he threw up. That was really scary.

This year I’m an economist—my Dad’s idea. It’s not much of a test for my superpowers. I’m wearing a worried look and a sign reading, “Economist.” Pretty scary, huh? I’m sweating like a glass of iced tea on a hot day. That’s because I’m wearing long underwear. When my mother is cold, the whole family wears long underwear. The sweating is probably OK. It makes an economist even scarier. I had to call 911 for a man who fainted from fright. His head hit a jack-o-lantern on the front steps. It made that sickening sound of a melon hitting a pumpkin.

Dad’s first suggestion was that I go as Grandpa. He said that it would save a lot of time as I wouldn’t even have to get off the sofa.

I’m carrying a pillowcase. That’s another of my Dad’s ideas. Mom says he’s cheap. Dad says he’s broke. Dad says the pillowcase is a tradition.

Does anybody actually eat candy corn? My theory is that the candy corn that isn’t eaten at Halloween becomes the main ingredient for fruitcake at Christmas.

I suppose this will be one of those good old days that I will look back on even though someone put a grocery coupon good for vegetable dip into my pillowcase.

I’m trying to think of a better place to hide the candy bars this year. Last Halloween, many of them disappeared, leaving their wrappers behind.

My mother said it was the work of the Halloween Fairy.

Grown-ups!

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Sunday and Wednesday.