Who’s Afraid of the Living Dead?

My chil- dren believe one word can explain w hat they love about Halloween: CANDY!

Yet I would argue that sweets are just the icing on the cake.

Halloween is a day for tasting forbidden fruits. What's more thrilling than permission to wear a costume in public, walk the streets af- ter dark, knock on strangers' doors and, yes, fill bulging sacks with free sweets?

But beyond these thrills, Halloween is a day for rev- eling in the macabre and purposefully seeking a case of the chills, whether through a spooky tale, a visit to a haunted house, or a particularly creepy costume.

This element of intentional fear is unique; it sets Halloween apart from oth- er childhood favorites like Christmas, Easter and Valen- tine's Day.

And it begs the question, why are people so fascinated with things that go bump in the night?

Some of us are adrenaline junkies. These thrill-seekers like to be scared, and they enjoy the rush of euphoria when it's over. My teen- age daughters fall into this category. They're addicted to TV shows such as "Teen Wolf," and my oldest is go- ing through a horror-movie phase. Some psychologists believe we tell ghost stories as a way of experiencing fear in a controlled setting - a safe way to test our mettle. My daughter's voice rings with pride when she tells me she watched "Nightmare on Elm Street" and "wasn't scared at all."

I was a timid, worrisome child. I was afraid of earth- quakes, tornados, fires, light- ning, nuclear war, ghosts and aliens.

Yet looking back, my fa- vorite books and movies con- tained elements of fear. "The Hobbit," a book I read and re-read as a child, has its giant spiders and blood-thirsty orcs. As a teen I watched "Interview with the Vam- pire" and "Bram Stoker's Dracula."

And ghost stories? I told ghost stories on the play- ground daily. My elementary school was located across the street from an old cemetery, so the dead were often on our minds.

Facing our fears is a part of growing up. And growing up is scary.

One sunny afternoon about two years ago, I took my twin boys, five years old at the time, on their first trip to the Dayton Cemetery.

Lane was thrilled. He jumped out of the car and raced off to read aloud all the headstones in sight.

As Lane and I ventured further from the car, Peter grew anxious and finally joined us. "But I am NOT walking on any dead people," he stated. So he and I were careful to watch our step.

After a short time, I called them back to the car so I could read a book aloud to them as we sat on the hillside overlooking Dayton. I was perhaps three pages into the story when Peter interrupted me.

"Mom, can we please go now before all the dead people wake up?"

I was speechless, mouth gaping, as I looked at his concerned little face. Then Lane spoke.

"Yeah," he said, pulling his knees to his chest and scrunching down in his seat. "I'm a little nervous about that, too."

I took a deep breath, stav- ing off an impulse to laugh in surprise. Then I buckled the boys into their car seats and drove quietly home.

I learned an important les- son that day. I cannot always control what my children learn regardless of how care- fully I try to protect their innocence. Early humans had no access to television or books, but they told many stories of spirits and monsters out of fear of the unknown.

Halloween is sometimes scary, but children are proud when they learn to be cou- rageous. That Halloween, my boys asked to dress up like zombies. We had talked about our trip to the cemetery, and I had explained my position on the existence of the living dead.

Now they were ready to test their mettle again, by im- personating what they most feared.

And there was also the prospect of trick-or-treating for candy. Lots and lots of candy.