I found it in one of mom’s home and garden magazines in early October, and my eyes lit up. They ran a big feature about Halloween decorations which included a pumpkin that had the words “Happy Halloween” etched through its smile, and I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. Trouble was, my artistic ability tapped out around drawing a stick figure, so I’d be unable to recreate it myself. Instead, I excitedly plopped the page in front of dad looking up to him with eyes pleading for him to carve it for me.
It took him hours. And I’m sure it drove him crazy a few times, working the carving knife ever so slowly and precisely to capture the minute detail, but I think it appealed to the meticulous way about him. How it maybe had a calming affect on him to master intricacies, like whenever my necklace chains would knot together and he’d sit at his workbench patiently weaving them free. But he brought that pumpkin to life – and I was so excited and proud to put it out on our porch that Halloween.
I was so young then, but never forgot it. When I moved back to Michigan from Chicago, summer was giving way to fall – and I spent the month of October living with my parents while I searched for an apartment. It drove me nuts on occasion, like dad’s insistence on watching almost nothing other than nightly news and NCIS, but it was rather lovely – being under that roof together again after so many years away. As Halloween drew near, I knew I wanted to revisit our tradition of carving pumpkins. And honestly, I really wanted an excuse that would bring just him and I together for an evening. Dad feigned enthusiasm, but I pressed on.
About a week before Halloween, mom and I went to a market so I could pick out pumpkins. I spent nearly 30 minutes turning over one after another insisting that only the best would do. Ones that were wide enough, tall enough, and free of bruises and scrapes. When I finally chose two, one for dad and I each, we placed them at the foot of the fireplace until we were ready to carve.
When that night came, I went over the the fireplace to bring dad’s pumpkin to him. As I lifted it slowly, the bottom gave out and all of its orange innards spilled across the floor. I shrieked as mom came bounding around the corner to see the mess at my feet. In the last week sitting there, it had rotted through and was collapsing in from the outside – making it useless to carve.
I was pissed, and I think dad was perhaps a bit relieved, insisting he’d sit with me as I carved my own – but I wouldn’t have that.
At the market, mom and I had picked up a few smaller, decorative pumpkins to place throughout the house – so I grabbed one from the kitchen table and placed it in front of dad.
“Here you go!” I smiled.
He turned it over in his hands, just larger than his palm, and looked at me with an eyebrow raised trying not to laugh.
“Really, Toots?”
“Oh yes sir. We’re going to make it work.”
And, like he did many years ago with that magazine clipping, he surrendered to his daughter’s will.
We spent the evening laughing and talking while we worked away on our pumpkins. Me, carving sweeping features into its side, and dad using a razor, shaving away layers to reveal a goofy, grinning smile. I always thought he was more creative and artistic than he gave himself credit for.
I can’t tell you what we talked about that night, but we spent hours perched at the kitchen island just enjoying one another, and it was so, so wonderful because a few days later, I moved into my new place.
I think of that night a lot, and it always makes me smile. Sometimes, the best moments aren’t how you plan them, and need a little nudge to get going. You can make memories happen if you give them room to.
I’ll miss my carving buddy this year. But I’ll laugh when I think of that silly, small pumpkin and the man who carved it to make his daughter happy.
A REKD GIRL 