They are brothers, and so far, great friends. But they are nothing alike in their approach to life. It shows even in their trick-or-treating.
The youngest knew what he wanted to be weeks before Halloween and stuck to his guns (literally, as a soldier). He ran from house to house, hit as many as possible in warp speed, then was ready for home, thrilled to just sit at the kitchen counter and eat Skittles. Done before dark.
Our middle child went off with his friends, but remained goal-oriented. He stopped at home for a bigger bag. He stayed out the latest of the three until, mission completed, he had to shift his candy from shoulder to shoulder, the weight of it all too great for the skinny guy in a skeleton costume.
Our oldest child walked with his friends too, but slowly, conversing like three old men. They debated certain houses. They skipped plenty, as if candy was not the evening’s goal. My son, the headless horseman, waited half-way up the walk at each stop until the door opened, as if the distance was too great without a definite reward. Then the slow walk to the next house, talking, talking, talking. And suddenly, his bag barely half-full, “I’m soooo tired”, he headed home.