For many Halloweens, my lovely wife created the costumes worn by our four children. Early on, our oldest went out dressed like a giant pumpkin...sort of a berry on steroids. She also made a bunny outfit that looked something like Bugs but it wasn't Bugs...just in case any Warner Brothers lawyers are paying attention. "Here Comes Peter Cottontail...Hopping down the copyright infringement bunny trail...Hippity. Hoppity. Litigation's on its way." Perhaps her greatest creation was turning our daughter into a box of pop-corn. She was rather short at the time, so her brothers called her Pop-corn Shrimp. Of course, we had our share of clowns, Power Rangers, Spidermans, devils, goblins and witches. Yesterday, our 16 year old son, said he was going to comb his hair into a sharp point, then plaster it with hair-spray and mousse. After preparation, he would proceed to go up to people, push his head into their body and say he was a "thorn in their side." He doesn't plan on getting much candy.

One year, my daughter started out to be a ballerina, then morphed into a witch, then tried to turn that into a princess. She ended up looking like a member of the royal family on Pluto. A couple years back, our oldest son went out in the neighborhood wearing a Chief's jacket, wire-rimmed glasses and scrunching up his face in a pained smile. He looked just like Dick Vermeil. He once did his impression for the Coach himself on a Red Friday. Mr. Vermeil, ever the gentleman, patted my son on the head and then made me do a hundred push-ups and 20 laps around Barney Allis Plaza.

This year, our youngest son is about the only true trick-or-treater left. He is recycling one of his mother's greatest hits from years past: a giant Butterfinger. He'll make a decent haul in candy. And, actually, our daughter, dressed as a baby, will also make the rounds. It's one of the advantages of being kind of small for her age. Who am I kidding? Our daughter is the kind of person who will be dressing up for Halloween her whole life, just for the fun of it. I, on the other hand, am not that kind of person.

I tried it one year. Wore a "blood-stained" shirt with a pocket-protector, horn-rimmed glasses with white athletic tape over the nose portion, matted my hair down and puffed up my neck until I looked a little like a cross between Mr. Wizard's evil lab assistant, Buddy Holly and a bullfrog. I was quite proud of the overall effect until I opened the door for the first trick-or-treater, and was greeted with "You're that weatherman, aren't you?" I knew the TV cameras added pounds but, until then, I didn't know they revealed the inner child, so clearly. After that I mentioned to a co-worker, that I was done with costumes. "Next year, I'll just go out dressed like a weatherman." From across the newsroom, my news director chimed in "Bad idea. According to our research nobody will ever believe you as a weatherman."