When I give out candy at Halloween, I make judgement calls. Cute little sidewalk-pounders in costumes get two or three things – no matter if they peer out from behind their parents whispering Trick or Treat or come up to me and grin with a mouth full of baby teeth, and maybe a couple of those missing. Older kids get one candy bar or Skittles pack . . . or whatever. Giant kids in costumes that consist of a bandana around their lower face practically have to pull the candy out of my hand.

I usually have candy left over and maybe 9 months later I will find still some left and wonder if it is “still good” or will taste like a melted and then re-hardened sugar product.

The Shark last night had a different approach. He remembered when he left the front steps to go out himself trick or treating, trailed by his parents and his brother and his little sister who went as a cow with a stomach that moo-ed when you poked it. He remember and he felt empathy.

So, he took this huge collection of candy he had purchased and handed it out very generously – sort of like Scrooge at Christmas after the visit from the three ghosts. For two hours he sat out in the chilly air while I stretched out on a sofa and read about Napoleon.

After a while the shark “hat” got a bit awkward and he switched to the Mad Bomber hat. (It must be hereditary: his great-grandfather had one he would pull on and let the ear flaps do just that – flap. (It drove me crazy as a teenager.) His Uncle Quentin took to wearing a surplus flyers soft helmet from WW I when he had to work outside. (Did not drive me as crazy, but I did sigh.)

And when he came in with his bushel basket of what had held candy, only the dregs were left – supplementary candy he had scavenged from the house as his original supply ran low. I think he enjoyed himself and I’m glad I grabbed two tiny 100 Grand bars before he first went out.