I’ll never forget my first time.

It was the witching hour in my home – bedtime with toddlers. I had just finished giving my Irish-twins their bath when my doorbell rings. My spine stiffened. My husband was still at work in the black hole we called the Pentagon. I don’t know anyone in my neighborhood, I just moved here a few months before.

Why is someone ringing my doorbell? Don’t they know it’s 7 pm – that’s so close to midnight when you have two in diapers! Maybe a neighbor is trouble or maybe someone stole my car? Or maybe it’s an intruder – no doubt, a polite intruder… knocking on my door. What do I do?

Curiosity gets the better of me, so I creep downstairs with the aluminum bat in my hand, the one I keep next to my bed. It serves as protection, both visually and physically. See, I was a pretty good play softball player in my youth. I’m sure I LOOK scary in yoga pants, a UNLV sweatshirt and a haphazard ponytail. But know this; I can swing to the fences with that bat.

I peek out the window. No one. Just darkness. I flip on the porch light to see a shadow racing through the bushes. My grip tightens and my adrenaline builds. I begin to turn the latch of the double lock on the door when I catch a glimpse of a package outside. It’s orange and glowing.

Wait, wait! It’s a plastic jack-o-lantern bucket, stuffed with many interesting items. Could it be dangerous, this package stuffed with candy, glow sticks, spider rings and plastic eyeballs?

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