Halloween. I’ve never been a big fan of the dark, or of the dark side. For instance, while other kids in my neighborhood hurried home from school in 1967 and gathered together to watch the Gothic TV serial “Dark Shadows,” I occupied myself elsewhere. Even so, I heard and saw enough to know what the show was all about: badness, really scary badness, with a capital “B.”
Once, when I was about five years old, I tried to get a message to the show’s main vampire, Barnabas Collins, through writing to another famous person, teen idol Bobby Sherman, who had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the show. I guess in my childish head, they both lived somewhere in "Famous People World," so surely they hung out together at Famous People barbecues or something.
Anyway, I asked Bobby to please tell Barnabas that I did not like him. As fearful as I was of Barnabas, I could be strong through the perceived protection of Bobby-of-the-pink-pants. Yes, I was an offbeat child.
Please join me at the cafe for the rest of this riveting Halloween tale. My new fear is they will never let me write there again.