You’re never too old to do goofy stuff.
~Ward Cleaver, Leave It to Beaver
“If I tell you this story, you’re gonna think we’re all crazy.” My mother-in-law sat across the table from me, laughing. My husband, Greg, knew where she was headed. He was laughing, too.
One of the reasons I fell in love with my husband was because of his Cleaver-like family. Growing up, my dad was married five times, my mom four. The first two marriages were to each other, though, so I’d lived through some fairly dysfunctional times. I had one full-blooded brother from that first marriage, a half-sister from my mom’s third marriage (second husband), a half-sister from my dad’s fourth marriage (third wife), and a slew of stepbrothers, most of whom had been left behind in the wake of multiple divorces. I doubted there was a thing this woman could tell me that I’d find crazy.
“Lay it on me, Mom,” I said.
And so she did.
***
It was a warm, May evening in 1985. Greg had a few friends over to ring in his thirteenth birthday. Once all the usual birthday festivities had taken place — cake, ice cream, and games — the boys were bored. And it was only 9:30.
Now the thing one must understand about my mother-in-law, Pat, is that she is the kind of mother who would take her boys and their friends to an empty soccer field at midnight, leave the car headlights on to provide light, and read a book while they kicked around a ball until 3:00 am.
She is the kind of mother who, despite her own fears, allowed her sons to catch and research every kind of snake native to Kentucky… even after one escaped in the house.
And another in the car.
She is the kind of mother who, when the boys were watching a scary movie in the basement, reached over the deck to tap gently on the window with a broomstick.
Repeatedly.
So when the boys were bored that May 18th, it was no surprise that she suggested they go trick-or-treating. A neighbor who had a great sense of humor was having a Bunco party. Wouldn’t it be funny to show up in full costume, asking for candy, in springtime? Of course the boys jumped at the chance. Quickly, they all donned ripped clothing, monster masks, and face paint. Not to be left out, Greg’s mom sported a black hooded monk’s robe and painted her face white. They knocked on the door and everyone got a good laugh. And they scored some candy in the process.
Now running on adrenaline, the boys weren’t ready to call it a night. A favorite teacher lived in the neighborhood, only a few blocks away. A math teacher, she was a mentor who treated them like young adults instead of children and affectionately called everyone, “Babe.”
Pat gave the boys the green light. So off they ran — even Greg’s friend, Tony, who was on crutches.
Little did they know that teacher had been receiving threatening crank calls over the prior couple of days.
Little did they know that the teacher had been to the police station that very day.
Little did they know that the teacher’s neighbor hadn’t slept in days, because he had newborn twins in the ICU.
But the boys were in full Halloween mode now. Wouldn’t it be funny if, instead of knocking on the door, they scratched on her window screens and the sides of her house? Wouldn’t it be funny if they grabbed sticks and tapped the windows upstairs? Wouldn’t it be funny if they circled her house for ten minutes and screamed in the back yard while hoisting a table into the air?
Since the boys had run ahead, Pat wasn’t in on the prank’s evolution. So, as she approached the house, she was shocked to see Tony rapidly hobbling toward her on his crutches. The teacher’s neighbor, wearing nothing but boxer shorts, had just hurdled the fence and tackled two of the other boys. Now carrying one under each arm, he was quickly gaining on Tony.
“MRS. STOCKER! MRS. STOOOOOCCCKEEEEERRRR! HELLLLLLP!”
Pat sprinted to the man in boxers. Sheepishly, she lowered her monk’s hood.
“It’s Pat Stocker. I…. I go to church with you.”
The neighbor froze. They knew each other well.
“I’m sorry. The boys are with me,” she said.
He dropped the boys. Without a word to Pat, he turned and knocked on the teacher’s door.
“Karen, it’s me. It’s okay. It’s the Stockers.”
Karen creaked open the door, a whiskey in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Wide-eyed, she looked from one guilty face to the next.
“Babe, I was petrified.”
Even when terrified, she still called everyone “Babe.” The boys stifled their laughter as sirens became audible in the background.
“Oh, yeah. I called the cops. You guys better get out of here.”
When they got back to the house, the boys begged to trick-or-treat at a few more houses. For once, though, Greg’s mom said no.
“The neighbors are going to think I’ve lost my mind.”
By the time the shock wore off, the embarrassment began to sink in. Pat wondered how she could ever show her face in church again. She sent the boys downstairs and padded to her bedroom. Although she tried not to wake her husband, he rolled over when she slipped into bed.
“So… How’d it go?”
***
I looked around the table as my mother-in-law and my husband howled at the memories. My father-in-law, in his usual fashion, sat shaking his head, silently amused. I thought about the memories that Greg and I were making for our children. I thought about the birthday parties to come, the midnight soccer trips, the snakes, the pranks… that was the kind of mother I wanted to be, too. I wanted to be the kind of mom who took her kids trick-or-treating in May. I caught Mom’s eye.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I said.
“No?” she asked, still giggling.
“No,” I answered. “I think you’re amazing.”
~Shannon Stocker
