Moseyasaurus

There’s something about a kid in a Halloween costume that always makes me choke up a little, and since I’m not the weepy type, I’m not really sure why. Maybe it’s the costumed cuteness, or perhaps it’s the excitement that is reflected in the eyes of a child peering out from behind a little mask. But mostly I think it’s because Halloween is simply the best, most purely joyful holiday. Halloween lacks the schedule that is associated with most special occasions. There aren't multiple family gatherings to attend, no religious services or taking time out to focus on the real meaning; It’s fabulously fanfare-free, the ultimate goal to assume a fake identity and rake in truckloads of tasty treasure. And last year I saw it all through the eyes of a toddling green dinosaur.

Witches, Disney princesses, Transformers, and ghouls of all makes and models braved the crisp fall air and populated the sidewalks of downtown Canton on Halloween. As we made our way around the square to collect treats from the various merchants and vendors, I walked backwards through the throng of trick or treaters in an effort to capture video footage of my little dino’s first independent trick or treating experience. Dragging his dino tail behind him, he warily approached the first vendor, and after just a little coaxing, uttered his first official “trick or treat.”

His request was greeted with a shiny red lollipop, which he immediately tore open and deposited in his mouth. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he had little interest in acquiring more candy. While other children clamored to the next stop, my dino’s floppy dino-feet shuffled slowly along the concrete sidewalk, his blue pumpkin candy container swinging happily from one hand, red lollipop grasped firmly in the other.

He set his pace to mosey, stopping periodically to gaze at the streetlights that were beginning to flicker, or to carefully study the scraping sound that his blue plastic pumpkin made as it bounced and scratched against the surface of one of the tall brick buildings that line the downtown district. He quietly observed the other ghosts and goblins as they zoomed past him in their frenzied quest for more sugar, and the round face that shone out from behind his dino facade wore an expression of perfect, happy contentment.

He was warm inside his furry dino exterior; he had his favorite sticky snack and was still too young to understand that he had not yet reached an acceptable Halloween candy quota. Our little Moseyasaurus had no place to be, and no place he would rather be, besides on an evening walk with the two most important people in his two-year-old life. And it was a rare moment of simple perfection, and in our tiny Coulter circle on that busy city sidewalk, Halloween had never been sweeter.