with salt and pepper hair and pointy glasses opens the door.
“Trick or treat,” the girls say.
“What do we have here?” the lady says.
“I’m a cat,” Olivia says. “See?” And she turns in a circle to show her long black tail.
“And I’m a cheerleader,” Emma says. She shakes her blue and white pom-poms.
“You’re a very pretty cat,” the lady says, “and you’re a very pretty cheerleader.” She puts a chocolate bar in each of their plastic Halloween bags.
Olivia’s dad waits on the sidewalk as the eight-year-olds go from house to house. Olivia’s neighborhood is the type of neighborhood I would have loved to have gone trick or treating in when I was her age. She gets full-size candy bars at nearly every house. One couple even fires up the grill and gives away hot dogs and orange drinks to kids and parents.
In the apartment complex where Grandma and I lived, most people gave out lollipops or Smarties. Chocolate was a real treat. And when you got it, it was the miniature candy bars, never the full-size ones.
Olivia and Emma skip up the sidewalk to the next house. As they approach the porch they see three older boys standing in front of a bench with a big black plastic cauldron filled with giant Reese’s peanut butter cups. One boy is dressed as a pirate, one as a ninja and the other is wearing a scary mask that looks as if it got caught in a meat slicer. With its cuts and gashes and blood, it’s the scariest mask Olivia and Emma have ever seen.
Olivia sees the sign taped to the candy bowl. It says: Take one, please.
“Look at all that candy,” Scary Mask says. “We could take it all. They’d never know.”
Olivia and Emma look at each other. Olivia swallows hard. “No, that’s wrong.”
Scary Mask turns around. “Says who?”
Olivia steps forward a little bit more and looks Scary Mask straight in the eye holes. “Says me.”
“You’re gonna let some girl tell you what to do?” Pirate Boy says.
Scary Mask doesn’t say anything and Olivia hasn’t stopped staring him down.
“Everything all right, Lib?” Tom calls from the sidewalk.
The boys look toward Tom and then back at Olivia and Emma.
“Just take one for now,” Scary Mask says. “We can come back for the rest later.”
The boys grab one giant peanut butter cup and race to the next house.
“I could never be as brave as you,” Emma tells Olivia.
“Yes, you could,” Olivia says. “Daddy says to stand up for what’s right, even if that meansyou’re standing alone. Taking all the candy wouldn’t have been right.”
Emma’s right. Olivia is brave for an eight-year-old. It isn’t the first moment I’ve captured where she’s flexed her tiny muscles against a much bigger kid. There was the time an older girl butted in line at the golden carousel at the amusement park and Olivia made her go to the end of the line. And the time Kevin from gym class called Olivia’s friend Elf Ears because he had big ears that stuck straight out. Olivia told Kevin that at least Ryan would grow into his ears but that he would be stuck with his big mouth forever. Kevin didn’t like that too much, but no matter what comeback he had, Olivia always had a better one. Olivia was quick on her feet and always a champion for the underdog.
When I was Olivia’s age, I was more like Emma, quiet and a bit reserved. Definitely a follower. I might have wanted to stand up for what I thought was right or to defend myself, but I never had the courage to actually do it. There was this kid, Jeremy the Jerk, who teased me about my webbed toes. The two toes beside my big toe on each foot were connected. I was born this way. Grandma used to tell me it made me special. I never bothered to have them separated, even though Grandma said that if I wanted to she’d save up to have it done. But Jeremy the Jerk, who noticed them one day at the apartment pool, called me Duckie every chance he got.
“What’s wrong with your toes?” asked Jeremy, who was
“Trick or treat,” the girls say.
“What do we have here?” the lady says.
“I’m a cat,” Olivia says. “See?” And she turns in a circle to show her long black tail.
“And I’m a cheerleader,” Emma says. She shakes her blue and white pom-poms.
“You’re a very pretty cat,” the lady says, “and you’re a very pretty cheerleader.” She puts a chocolate bar in each of their plastic Halloween bags.
Olivia’s dad waits on the sidewalk as the eight-year-olds go from house to house. Olivia’s neighborhood is the type of neighborhood I would have loved to have gone trick or treating in when I was her age. She gets full-size candy bars at nearly every house. One couple even fires up the grill and gives away hot dogs and orange drinks to kids and parents.
In the apartment complex where Grandma and I lived, most people gave out lollipops or Smarties. Chocolate was a real treat. And when you got it, it was the miniature candy bars, never the full-size ones.
Olivia and Emma skip up the sidewalk to the next house. As they approach the porch they see three older boys standing in front of a bench with a big black plastic cauldron filled with giant Reese’s peanut butter cups. One boy is dressed as a pirate, one as a ninja and the other is wearing a scary mask that looks as if it got caught in a meat slicer. With its cuts and gashes and blood, it’s the scariest mask Olivia and Emma have ever seen.
Olivia sees the sign taped to the candy bowl. It says: Take one, please.
“Look at all that candy,” Scary Mask says. “We could take it all. They’d never know.”
Olivia and Emma look at each other. Olivia swallows hard. “No, that’s wrong.”
Scary Mask turns around. “Says who?”
Olivia steps forward a little bit more and looks Scary Mask straight in the eye holes. “Says me.”
“You’re gonna let some girl tell you what to do?” Pirate Boy says.
Scary Mask doesn’t say anything and Olivia hasn’t stopped staring him down.
“Everything all right, Lib?” Tom calls from the sidewalk.
The boys look toward Tom and then back at Olivia and Emma.
“Just take one for now,” Scary Mask says. “We can come back for the rest later.”
The boys grab one giant peanut butter cup and race to the next house.
“I could never be as brave as you,” Emma tells Olivia.
“Yes, you could,” Olivia says. “Daddy says to stand up for what’s right, even if that meansyou’re standing alone. Taking all the candy wouldn’t have been right.”
Emma’s right. Olivia is brave for an eight-year-old. It isn’t the first moment I’ve captured where she’s flexed her tiny muscles against a much bigger kid. There was the time an older girl butted in line at the golden carousel at the amusement park and Olivia made her go to the end of the line. And the time Kevin from gym class called Olivia’s friend Elf Ears because he had big ears that stuck straight out. Olivia told Kevin that at least Ryan would grow into his ears but that he would be stuck with his big mouth forever. Kevin didn’t like that too much, but no matter what comeback he had, Olivia always had a better one. Olivia was quick on her feet and always a champion for the underdog.
When I was Olivia’s age, I was more like Emma, quiet and a bit reserved. Definitely a follower. I might have wanted to stand up for what I thought was right or to defend myself, but I never had the courage to actually do it. There was this kid, Jeremy the Jerk, who teased me about my webbed toes. The two toes beside my big toe on each foot were connected. I was born this way. Grandma used to tell me it made me special. I never bothered to have them separated, even though Grandma said that if I wanted to she’d save up to have it done. But Jeremy the Jerk, who noticed them one day at the apartment pool, called me Duckie every chance he got.
“What’s wrong with your toes?” asked Jeremy, who was
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