The Ghetto Fabulous Halloween

Okay, Okay I know Halloween is like past, but the sad shenanigans hubby and I witnessed while trick-or-treating with the kids still leaves me slack-mouthed.

Also, in the name of full disclosure we live in the "slums of Shaker Heights" which means we rent in a not-so-desirable building while struggling to save a down payment, pay the bills, drive decade+ old cars and plain old survive. In other words me and mine are the not-so-well to do in a community that is known for being well-heeled.

Additionally, we carry packaged name brand candy to hand out ourselves, so we are not just takers, but givers as well.

So, we get the kids dressed and set off for another exciting round of Beggar's Night. Trust me it gets real stale by year 9, and now that we are expecting child #3, I have at least 12 more years of costumed outings to look forward to.

First thing we notice, is that the street closest to us looks deserted. In years past, this two-block stretch would have been awash in all kinds of little monsters and goblins visting just about every house because all the houses used to leave a light on. Not this year; less than six houses are participating in the annual ritual. But I soon see why.

The Invasion of the Ghetto Riff-Raff was in full swing. Cars (hoopties with spinning rims and flashy new SUV's) pull up (some times to the curb, sometimes in people's driveways) and like clowns at the circus, out tumble throngs of misbehaving tweens and teens, most not even in any semblance of a costume clutching supermarket plastic bags and the occasional ratty and dirty pillow case.

They bumrush past my kids, mumble-mouth "trick-or-treat" and run back to their rides without so much as a "thank you" to be driven to the next house where the same scene is repeated. The Vikings could have learned a thing or two from these roving bands of modern day pillagers.

Most of these were not little (kindergarten through grades 5-6 grade-aged) kids, but middle-school and then some youths who were way taller and bigger than me (and I'm 5'9")! Baggy pants & white tees; tight jeans and head rags; on their cell phones letting their peeps know where they was at. Young chesticles hanging over multiple roles of baby fat in shirts two sizes too small; size 13 feet in Timbs while the pockets of their pants are almost at knee level. Ebonics-ladden conversations riccochet in and out of my head while I wonder how many foul words my kids are learning in a short period of time.

Still we pressed on. The warm weather deluded us. Two avenues over we encountered the Mother Ship. Surely, Smoketown must have been empty because the entire 'hood was on this strip. Juvies smoking blunts while talking about how "somebody better give me some muthafuckin' candy or else!" Grandmothers who are my age, in all their spandex and velour glory, ordering little Specials and Jay-anythings (Jayron, Jayson, Jaylin) into hustling for the candy. "Girl/Boy you betta get you some candy! I ain't come out here for nuthin"

Folks who vaguely look like me and mine (increasingly that is where any resemblance begins and ends) running up and down and across the street just acting like pure-D fools who ain't never had anything. Yet their cars, clothes, and jewels are newer, more expensive, and shinier than mine. Cost of living must be less in the 'hood.

Still, one white lady had a more of a trick than a treat for the interlopers. When they walked up her porch someone appeared out of the darkened bushes and scared the beejeezus out of many of the lovely young people. You would have thought you were watching some old racist film, for all the bug-eyed black folks running trying to get away. It was quite hilarious and served the rowdies right.

Yes, yes, yes! I know it sounds elitist of me to complain about people who look like me driving in to trick-or-treat, but Shaker Heighst borders the black half of Cleveland. Segregation by race and ethnic group is old news for Greater Cleveland. Whites on one side of the river, blacks on the other. Shaker Heights bucks this trend by being a "diverse" community. Meaning mostly liberal white folks are willing to reside near black folks because it is a nice place to live. (It also helps that they can get financial assistance for moving into the black sections of the 'burb.) Which makes the display of sad behavior that night even more troublesome. Because the whites who peeked outside their doors saw hundreds of reasons to move to Solon or Chagrin Falls. Hell, I saw reasons to move further out. The Ghetto Riff-Raff won't drive that far to trick-or-treat. Homes of a few whites that I know were dark that night. And I don't blame them. I wouldn't want those rowdies storming my door either.

Whatever happened to hometraining? My mother and father raised me with some sense. They taught me not to act trifling or like I don't have no sense. They taught me to say "thank you," and to not embarrass myself, my family or my race through my actions. Were we rich? No! But manners and civility have nothing to do with money. Sadly, hometraining has become a relic of the past in some quarters of the community. And I understand why some folks now leave their porch lights dark and go out to dinner and a movie on Halloween night.