WHAT YOU PUT INTO A PUMPKIN WHEN CARVING

Inseparable. That's what our son Scott and his best bud Mike were when they were ages 3 to 10. Still very good friends, they drifted like a lot of buddies when different interests and other friends come into the picture.

I'm sure they both remember those very special childhood times when you only needed one bud. When there would be a whole swimming pool full of other friends and they'd be in the deep end just conversing. There were others there, but they were window dressing. These guys had things to talk over. Problems to solve. Worlds to conquer. Heck, they could play Marco Polo any time.

Mike was at Day Care one Halloween season while Scott was at home with a sitter for him and his sister. Loretta, a great lady and third grandmother to our kids, watched them in our home. She left the pumpkin carving to me. But at Day Care, kids were hollowing out the middle prior to the adult carve. I just read recently about Jack-o'-lanterns and how they got their names, but all I recall is Jack was a common name for any guy in England, I think. Kinda like our John Doe.

So. As Mike was hollowing on Halloween, he became nauseous because of the pumpkin smell. I like it, but I wasn't there. He, being the trooper he was (and later Eagle Scout) hung in there and kept scooping. Shortly, for it didn't take long, Mike threw up inside the pumpkin. There's one that was saved the knife.

I'm glad he wasn't emotionally scarred from the incident. I'm just as happy for him that other day carers didn't refer to him as Mike: the Pumpkin Puker, or other such names. But to this day, I can't carve or even think about carving a pumpkin without thinking of Mike. And how his buddy, Scott was nowhere to be found during that crisis.