Halloween on LI

MY California sister and her S2 just finished a great stay at our house, and her presence, along with the coincidental happening of my high school's 35th reunion has had me, in my mind, going back to Lawn Guyland. I skipped the reunion, largely due to the convenience of FaceBook (tm). I'm able to keep up with those old friends I wish to , and any morbid curiousity I have about others is easily satisfied by social media. Speaking of morbid curiousity, I did look at all the pictures from the reunion, which was held at the Jones Beach Hotel, a place that defined seedy when I was living in Wantagh. It's located on the mainland north of Jones Beach, and was a den of hookers and bikers in the late 70s. Some of my friends went there to make illicit purchases. Now, apparently, it's been gentrified, and was the venue for the reunion. The pictures were depressing. The years have not been kind to most of the participants -- to say the least. A few of the cute girls I recall were, well, no longer cute. They were matronly and gray. The best looking was a guy I'll call Scott, since that's his name, who came out as gay soon after high school, and now lives in North Broward. He looked awesome. Maybe not having kids does preserve one's looks... Anyway, so Halloween is approaching, and it brings back wonderful childhood and adolescent memories. As a kid, my friends and I ran home from school, put on costumes, and trick or treated until dark. Since vandalism was part of the holiday, at nightfall my Dad parked a chair out front, with a cane and our dog Missy in hand, as the older, scarier kids came by for candy. His guarding was successful -- no eggings or shaving creamings at 527 Charles Lane, as far as I new. When I became a teen, or near, my friends and I became the vandals. We'd buy our stash of eggs in early October, so as not to raise suspicion at the Pathmark. We'd also get a few cans of shaving cream -- which we used on girls we liked if we came across them while out on our night raids. Junior high really is the worst time of life. I was one of a gang of 6: Mark, Fitz, John, Mike, Eric, and me. We walk ALL over Levittown, Wantagh, and Seaford, it seemed -- hitting the targets of nasty neighbors or jerky kids. Of the group, one is a retired CIA agent, three are engineers, one's a lawyer, and one is an unemployed printer. Mike, the retired printer, has been happily living on NY's generous worker's comp benefits for the past 20 years . He fishes every day and looks, by far, the youngest of all of us. One year, when we were about 14, we stalked down the street, I think in Seaford, where a really mean teacher lived. I heard "Chickee" which was the mid 70s code that the cops were coming. The cops would confront kids, and slap their pants, to break any hidden eggs. I was too smart to become a victim of that: I looked to see a street lamp was missing a steel cover at its base. I placed my eggs inside until the cops passed. When I retrieved them, I got an electric shock that knocked me back at least 5 feet, but miraculously lived. I learned empirically that touching live electrical stuff wasn't a good idea. I figure the damage done has kept me out of the US Supreme Court... My last LI Halloween, in 1978, was less destructive and life threatening. A friend had, as I recall, once of those kick ass Levittown parties, with a keg of beer, and great costumes. My friends and I toasted with beer, feeling nearly grown up, and sensing that our easy adolescences were coming to an end. I remember that night well. By the next Halloween, I was in Miami, and Mark was in Key West. A year after that, John and Eric would leave, too -- never to return. None of us attended the reunion, but plan to get together one of these years. I don't think there will be any eggs.