I’m glad you stole our pumpkins from the front porch. You helped yourself to my son’s handpicked-from-a-patch-can’t-wait-to-carve-this pumpkin. We don’t really mind. We are new to the neighborhood, so a warm welcome is always great. Anyway, it’s not like we have any real stake in a single gourd on a front porch. It’s not like my son is a childhood cancer survivor; these are not his first pumpkins after the end of chemotherapy. He is not underprivileged nor is this his first Halloween with a pumpkin. Perhaps it’s his first time to be allowed to wield the carving knife? Nope. He is from a different country and this is a new tradition? Is he overcoming life-long cucurbitophobia? No and No.
We just moved to the neighborhood, and we wanted to decorate our little rental house in a festive way. Welcome to the city. It’s really not a big deal. I wonder if you are aware that the origins of carving pumpkins may trace to carving goblins’ faces on turnips in Ireland. I wonder if you know that Halloween is my son’s favorite holiday, even above Christmas and his own birthday? I wonder if you know the story of Jack and Satan tossing him embers that he carried around in said turnip? I wonder if you care. I wonder what you did with our pumpkin. Did you carve it? Smash him? Make a couple of pies?
It’s curious the things people steal from yards. I had a mum stolen one year while living in Illinois. In Urbandale, a string of Christmas lights went missing. In Georgia, a wheelbarrow and a rose bush turned up missing one year. I don’t know. People do tend to take what they want in life. And people get what they deserve.
You, my friend, deserve a pumpkin.