The Little Boy Who Wouldn't Say His Prayers

Della with Susan Leona and Robert Kim Huffstutler.

Once,” Della said (and rather ominously at that). “Once there was a little boy (and here, always, always, she looked at me with cold, dark eyes) who wouldn’t say his prayers.” 

You could hear the horror of that thought in her voice as she moaned. Her face, in shadowed profile, tilted up away from the light and we watched, oddly fascinated, as the loose skin of her neck quivered. Right on cue, her wicker rocker let out a “screeeeeeeeeetch” that made us all jump a foot in the deep dark of the front porch.

Growing up, this was Halloween. With a pinch of salt thrown over one shoulder, we whistled past the graveyard hoping to escape the notice of the powers of the air. Halloween was frowned upon in that house, tolerated for the sake of us children who merely saw it for the entertainment that it was. Fifty years ago, it was an entertainment – a harmless bit of fun tempered with a little vandalism, a spot of tooth decay and a dash of outright illegal behavior.

Today, Halloween seems to be a quite different thing. When we were kids, boys dressed up as super heroes. We only had two: Batman and Superman. Or we dressed as cowboys or Indians, astronauts or hobos. Girls dressed as princesses, Indian and otherwise, and Raggedy Anne or (shudder) Barbie. Back then, Halloween was a sort of dress rehearsal for our future ambitions. 

Today, I think Halloween has undergone a warped reformation. It's stripped away the fun and the playfulness and embraced death with open, vacant, decaying arms. Halloween has returned to its roots of demons and devils, blood and gore. Since when is death fun? Some still see no harm because it “isn’t real.” They don’t believe in monsters. As for me, I see monsters every time I watch the news or read a paper. I believe in monsters. I have met monsters. The evidence is everywhere – especially in my Bible.

Perhaps I’m naïve. Or perhaps I was a little too fully taught about the consequences of foregoing prayer and a respectful relationship with the Lord above. For, as Della warned us…

Once there was a little boy who wouldn't say his prayers,
and then one night he went away upstairs,
his mammy heard him holler, his daddy heard him call,
but when they pulled the covers back he wasn't there at all!
They searched him in the attic room, the cubbyhole and press
and even up the chimney flue and everywhere, I guess.
But all they ever found of him was pants and roundabouts
because the goblins will get you if you don't watch out!