Hallowe'en memory

The strongest memory I have of Hallowe'en has nothing to do with my family, friends or myself.

Years ago I was driving to work on Hallowe'en morning. The weather was miserable the way the last day of October can sometimes be: cold, damp, and with the threat of rain to ruin the upcoming evening of trick or treat-ery.

And as I was driving, I noticed a young kid, maybe six or so, standing at a bus stop. For some reason he seemed to be crying.

But he was in costume. Wearing a bright, red, full-sized crayon outfit.

So there he was, on that cold Hallowe'en morning, a Crying Crayon.

He looked terrific in his costume and he should have been happy, but instead he looked utterly despondent as he stood alone, crying at the bus stop.

At that moment I felt like I was looking at the saddest little boy in the world.

I've never forgotten him. He haunts my Hallowe'en every year. The Crying Crayon.