Bah, humbug... (Oops, sorry, wrong holiday). I hate Halloween. Not because I once was scared out of my wits by a pillow-case-wearing 5-year-old, but because ... well ... I believe it teaches our children to beg.

I know, it's a tradition, and kids all over the country look forward to it each year, blah, blah, blah, but is it entirely necessary to spend upwards of $20 on a costume that they'll wear for two hours and that will fall apart the very next day? What about the three days they have to stay in bed because Captain Jack Sparrow and the Princess caught a nasty cold?

And what about the money we spend on our kids' teeth? Do we really want them loading up on sticky, sugary candy? And what's with the yummy chocolate anyway? Don't they know I'm on a diet??

Of course the reason I dislike Halloween could be because I didn't grow up in this country; ah, we had way more interesting traditions at this time of year.

This coming Monday, Nov. 5, I should be burning the effigy of a man at the stake, and eating a potato baked in his ashes. No, it's not the latest Sims game, or a new form of girl power -- it's Guy Fawkes Day.

In England, that's the day all the children look forward to. They get their hands on some of Dad's old trousers and shirts, and stuff them with straw, paper, or anything else highly combustible. OK, they do their fair share of begging -- pulling the "Guy" around in a wagon and asking for donations to buy fireworks. Yes, fireworks. And it's not even July.

But wait, there's more. On Guy Fawkes Day -- actually, Night -- the Guy is propped up on a large bonfire (a la Burning Man in the Nevada desert) and set on fire. Fireworks are let off, and all the kiddies rejoice with glee as Guy ends up in a pile of ashes, just perfect for roasting potatoes.

Ah, the good old days of my childhood! (Rather than just a barbaric ritual, there is a certain amount of historical significance to this carnage. I'll leave it up to you folks to Google it; just suffice it to say it's something to do with the Houses of Parliament and a gunpowder plot.)

So while the little ghouls, ghosties and princesses traipse through the cold, foggy streets tonight, I'll be sitting quietly in my house, lights off, doors locked, TV volume turned down low, hoping and praying that no one comes a-trick-or-treating.

I know, bah humbug. But stop by my house on Monday, and you can share in the fun. I'll even provide the potatoes.

(Oct. 31, 2007)