"Each year, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere. He's gotta pick this one. He's got to. I don't see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there's not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see," Linus says on "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown."

It's Halloween Eve and we're watching this movie in the family room —Ana, the kids and I, and about seventeen of Phoebe's stuffed animals. We've got our popcorn and cider and we're all toasty under a big throw that matches our candy corn colored knit socks that I had specially made by an elderly woman in Norway who does such things. Hey, if you're going to do Halloween, you have to do Halloween right. And every holiday demands family socks.

"What does si-seer mean?" Teddy asks, putting popcorn up his nose and then blowing it out at Phoebe, who promptly screams, but then clocks him one in the arm.

"Sincere," I enunciate. "It means keeping popcorn out of noses and sisterly fists away from brotherly arms." Ana and I pull them apart and I pick a popped kernel that survived the big blow out of his nose. "It also means you don't tell any lies, and you love something truly, with all of your heart, immeasurably." I look to Ana with what else—sincerity.

"Like I love all of the oooni-corns, Daddy?" Phoebe asks, referring to her three year old obsession with the mythical creatures. Five of which sit propped on the couch above my head. We're good friends; we have tea biweekly.

"Yes, just like the unicorns," I say.

"I want tricks or treats!" Phoebe yells, throwing her hands in the air as the kids in this cartoon cut holes out of sheets to go as ghosts for the door-to-door activities. Since when did dads get off in the costuming department so easily? A couple of scissor slices into an old sheet and the kids are happy? I've been conversing with designers for over a month.

Teddy is now glued to the television screen. I haven't seen him this concentrated on something since I told him if he counted all the green jellybeans in a jar he could get a pair of sneakers that lit up. He didn't even know how to count yet, but of course he still won. 

I don't understand this movie at all. Who the heck is this Great Pumpkin? He doesn't sound like someone you'd want to wait out at night for in a deserted dark patch situation. He sounds terrifying— like a demon who rises out of the earth in judgement of dishonest fall vegetables and their evil purveyors. Sounds like half the people in line at the Whole Foods. Wait, is a pumpkin a vegetable? No, I think it's a fruit. Why are all the good vegetables, fruits?

"Did you ever see him, Daddy?" Teddy asks.

"Who? The Great Pumpkin?" I ask and Teddy nods. "No, but I never had a particularly sincere patch." Ana snorts a laugh at that one.

"Daddy growed fibbers!" Phoebe yells out and laughs. What? Oh, my pumpkins weren't sincere. She's so quick.

We continue to watch. As it progresses I grow more and more confused. Who the hell gives kids rocks for Halloween and why is Charlie Brown perpetually on the receiving end of them in his candy bag? Why does Lucy remind me of Kavanagh? And who lets kids bob freely for apples? It's just a pit of toxic germ water in there. And worst of all, how is that boy sleeping and shivering at four in the morning out in some pumpkin patch while his sister, who can't be north of eight herself, has to go get him and take him to bed? Those parents should be arrested for child endangerment. Have we ever seen the parents? Are we sure all the parents haven't been eaten by the Great Pumpkin? This isn't a happy kids' show, it's a Halloween horror tale!

"Well, that was a fun movie," Ana says as the film concludes.

"It's over?" I ask, watching the credits roll. "But, we never saw him."

"But, Linus still believes in him," Ana says. "And now, he'll try again next year even better."

What the hell? We watched a whole show about the Great Pumpkin without us ever seeing the actual Great Pumpkin even once? And that was supposed to be the point? That's like Ana giving me a blow job, stopping right before I come and telling me it's a good thing because I still believe it could happen and I'll be more motivated for the next one. Talk about the holiday themed movie version of blue balls.

"Well, I think it's time for you two to get to bed," Ana says, picking my sleeping girl up off of my chest. Phoebe nods off every time we watch movies like this. It's the absolute best.

"No, I don't want to go to bed," she yawns, slurring her words and can barely peep one eye open. It's like Kavanagh after Sunday brunch. "I want Daddy to read me the story of the mouse prince." She's so into those royal rodent storybooks—The Count Chester series. I can't explain it, but every time I read them, I strangely fear for my future.

"I'll be right up, sweetie. You go with Mommy and brush your teeth."

"Daddy," Teddy says, once they leave. He looks at me, sad. "I don't believe in the Great Pumpkin anymore." And when he puffs his lower lip out, I know he means business.

"Why not?" I motion for him to sit next to me and he snuggles in tight, but hides his face into his tucked up knees. I used to do that.

"He didn't come." He looks absolutely crushed. And all I can think about is how to make this better. I am his father, it's my job. And I will stop at nothing to keep my children from any disappointment.

"Well, that doesn't mean you don't believe in him."

"Do you?"

"Well, sure."

"But, you never seen him."

"Like your mother says, you don't have to see something to believe it, you just have to know in your heart that it's out there and if you keep believing and work really hard, it will happen." Maybe I should tell my employees that when they want their pay checks.

"I wish I could see him. But, if Linus didn't..."

"Just because it didn't happen for him, it doesn't mean it can't happen for you." Then it hits me. Sure, Ana's words of faith and love are fine and well. But, sometimes faith and love have to be muscled in the right direction.

"What do you say we make a patch tomorrow and see if the Great Pumpkin just might come by," I say.

"Really?" He lights up.

"Yes; we get some pumpkins and set it up and make the most sincere patch he's ever seen."

"Do you think he'll really come?"

"If you believe really hard and do your best, something tells me he will." I smile.

#######

"No, I don't want the Headless Horseman," I say to the holiday event planner, who goes only by the name Voltaire, on speaker phone in my office at GEH. Whoever found this idiot should lose him again.

"You said you wanted a pumpkin man costume, that's the only one," Voltaire says. I think Andrea's been screwing him. She likes men with one dramatic name who wear leather. I bet this is the kind of freak who braids his beard hair.

"The Great Pumpkin is a holiday institution. How can you not have a costume?"

"But, he never appeared anywhere, so we don't know what he looks like."

"Well, let's use our imaginations and the stack of cash I'm paying you to get it to me by eight tonight with an actor underneath."

"But, it's almost eleven. How do I find an actor that works Halloween night so fast?"

"Have someone yell out "money" on Hollywood Boulevard. They'll come running! Then security check them with Welch and fly them up." 

I hang up and Andrea buzzes immediately. "Mrs. Grey is on line two."

I pick it up. "Ana—"

"Why are there a half dozen men out back measuring our yard, constructing wood fences and placing bales of hay all around?"

"Why are you home?" I ask.

"That's not an answer."

"I told Teddy we'd build a cute little pumpkin patch for Halloween out back."

"A cute little patch? It looks like almost an acre!"

"He wants to meet the Great Pumpkin and in order for that to happen it has to be the best. And I did research. There are some remarkable patches out there."

"Christian, what have I told you about encouraging the children to have unrealistic expectations in life?"

"It's not unrealistic. It's currently happening!"

Andrea buzzes and I put Ana on hold.

"What?" I snap.

"Mr. Taylor is here," she says.

"Who's Mr. Taylor?"

"Just Taylor, sir."

"Oh. Why the hell are you buzzing me? Send him in."

I switch back to Ana.

"Look Ana, it's going to be fun. The kids will have a blast. You know how Phoebe loves petting zoos."

"You're getting a petting zoo?" she asks as Taylor walks in carrying some packages. Shit, I revealed the plot before it thickened properly.

"Just a small one. There are no... thoroughbreds, or anything." It's all I could think of. There's everything else, including unicorns.

"Oh Christian," she sighs. "You do realize you're teaching our kids that they can have anything they want in life if they just ask their father for it."

"I completely realize this. It's the whole point!"

She sighs, but I can also hear her laugh.

"I would be mad, but how can I be when you love us all so much?" she says.

"Oh Ana, I do." I take the phone off speaker and turn away from Taylor as I whisper to her. "Since you're home, maybe I can swing by and show you just how much I love you all over the desk in my study."

"I would like that," she says, practically purring. "But, I've changed into my costume."

"Oh, I'd definitely like to see that." Fuck, I'm hard as a rock at the prospect of role play. "What are we playing today? Dirty nurse? Naughty kitty?"

"Smurfette," she says.

Huh? This is a new one. Could be kinky, though...

"Our costumes for Halloween," she says.

"Oh, right," I say. She's Smurfette, I'm Papa. That's what Taylor's carrying. I got so excited about the patch and fucking on my desk I nearly forgot there are other things that happen on Halloween. "Okay, we'll be by to pick you up, shortly." I blow her a kiss and hang up.

"Is that my costume?" I ask as I turn and walk to Taylor.

"Yes, sir." He hands me a package. "We can paint you after you change, Mr. Grey."

"Paint me?" I ask and he nods.

What the hell?

#######

"Taylor, I'm fucking blue!" I say as I walk to the car from my office. Thank God there are no paparazzi out today.

"Yes, you're a remarkable Smurf, sir."

"Yeah, remarkable's a good word," I grumble. "You just had to paint me up there, so I had to walk by all the other offices and all the little cubicles like this, not to mention that cesspool of gossip espresso machine." I point to myself. The red overall ensemble I'm wearing should be saved for a boulevard walk of shame. "This doesn't look like Papa Smurf. This looks like Papa Smurf's Super Mario loving pool boy!"

"I think you look quite good, sir." He opens the car door for me and two twenty-something women walk by and whistle.

"I'm taken, thank you," I say with a dismissive wave. Oh fuck, I think they think I mean I'm taken by Taylor. 

"You could've at least given me a trench coat, so I wouldn't be exposed," I say.

"The paint had to dry."

"Well, it's dry now. I think I'll have to get skin grafting to get it off."

"It may feel dry, but we should probably leave the windows open, sir."

"Great, why don't you drive slow through downtown and I can just grand marshal a parade?"

"Well, look on the bright side, sir. They gave you a blue shirt and suspenders. The real Papa Smurf went completely topless." That's weird. I never noticed that. That's kind of creepy, actually.

"You're right; we can all be thankful I'm not wearing tight red pants with a bare chest to a school party." I get inside the vehicle and Taylor seals me away from society again.

The car ride from here to home feels longer than usual, but I suppose the wedgie flying up my ass has no effect on time to do the same.

Finally, we reach home. Taylor goes to get Ana and my head turns on instinct as she steps out the door and down the stone path to the car. Long blue legs walk toward me as swinging hips that are covered only by the thinest material of a white mini skirt sway back and forth. And her breasts—they bounce up and down in time with that blonde wig. I've never liked blondes, until today when Ana wore that wig.

Damn.

But, then a hellish thought comes to mind... If I'm seeing her like this now, then every father is going to see her like this later!

"Ana, you can't wear that!" I say as she gets into the car and her cerulean thigh becomes exposed to me.

"What do you mean? It's a sundress."

"You're right the sun has direct access to everywhere."

"You don't like it?" she asks, almost hurt.

"No, I mean, yes! I mean, you're incredibly, fucking hot." I can't help but reach over and stroke her knee. "I love what I see, but so will every other asshole."

"Christian, you're being ridiculous," she says. "Besides, everyone who sees me tonight will immediately know I'm with you.

"How?" I ask and she raises a brow. Oh yes, the blue, the Smurfs.

On second thought, this may be the best costume yet! Although, I quite enjoyed Fred and Wilma last year. We played caveman games for a week.

I roll up the divider window between us and Taylor.

"There's only one way I'm so letting you wear that costume." I unlatch her seatbelt and pull her into my lap, astride my legs. "Ride me," I whisper into her ear, and then kiss her neck as I reach under her skirt and pull her little panties to the side.

"Yes, Sir," she says and unzips me fast, her hand playing with me a moment, before freeing me to do my will. 

And my will I do...

I thrust myself into her and hold tight to her hips as she bucks up and down. This blue paint on her is so hot! It doesn't take us long before we come violently together.

It's bliss, until I remember we left the windows open and I see a cheering bus of people has just watched Papa Smurf fuck Smurfette.

#######

"Are you a blueberry?" a snotty little kid—literally snotty, as in get the kid antibiotics and a personal tissue pack—says as I try to saw my way through a pumpkin with a knife that should be reclassified a spoon. We're making jack-o-lanterns, and I know preschoolers can't handle the real thing, but I'm thirty-four—give me a fucking knife!

"No, I'm Papa Smurf," I say.

"Does that mean you're the daddy of a blueberry?" another boy asks.

"Don't you know what a Smurf is?"

They shake their heads. Damn, I feel old.

"Why aren't your teeth pointed?" the snotty kid asks.

"Because I'm not a vampire Smurf."

"No, the jack-o-lantern." He points to my pumpkin. "They're flat and short."

"Those aren't flat," I say. "They're tooth shaped."

"They're supposed to be scary teeth," says a boy with Harry Potter glasses that keep slipping down, so he keeps pushing them back up. He reminds me of that idiot, Sam in accounting. Always putting in his two cents and taking out seven.

"Short teeth are more scary," I say.

"Why?"

"Because they're closer to the underworld."

"But there's only three. Three isn't scary," Snotty Scotty says.

"Have you ever seen an old person without dentures coming at you in the middle of night?" They shake their heads. "Trust me, it's terrifying."

How did I get stuck with this group?

"Are you Phoebe's dad?" another boy asks. He's got beady little eyes that are just looking for trouble.

"Yes, why?"

"Can I marry her?"

"No."

"How come?"

"Because you've got dirt all over your sleeves, food all over your face, and no money in your pocket for either."

"Okay," he says and walks off. I hope high school will be this easy.

Speak of the angel... Literally an angel. Phoebe, in her diamond encrusted halo and wings courtesy of Cartier, and her heavenly Valentino couture, runs to me.

"Daddy could you make mine a princess pump-y-kin?" Phoebe asks, handing me a pumpkin the size of an apple. It's like a pumpkapple.

"How so?" I ask. I don't even think it has room for more than one eye.

"Cut the crown part," she says, pointing to it. "And hair. And big skirt with lotsa bows and ruffies."

She wants me to cut all that into this thing and I haven't even mastered pointy teeth?

"I have an idea, Princess. How about you draw it on the front and we'll put sparkle jewels and glitter on it, then top it with a paper crown so it's really pretty and not scary."

"Okay, Daddy," she says, and takes the markers to draw. "Yay! Pretty!"

I look across the way to find Ana. She's decorating cupcakes and passing out awards for costumes that mean absolutely nothing because everyone gets one. She's just gotta think of a new complimentary title for each kid's gold spider certificate.

When I spot her she's talking to not one, but three idiot fathers, who look like they're going as the Stooges, but I think it's just themselves. They're eyeing her up and down and of course she's oblivious as she smears her icing and dots jellybeans happily on her little cakes. They're practically drooling! I make my way over, quickly, to break up this wolf pack.

"What's going on over here, baby?" I ask, my arm wrapped around her waist as I pull her close.

"They wanted some cupcakes," she says, looking up at me like I've lost my mind, which is nothing new.

"I bet they did," I say as I glare at them, then swipe a smear of frosting off the cupcake she's holding with my finger, smear it on her lips, and then kiss it off.

I pull back and look at the heartbroken men.

"Yummy," I say and they all take off with their cakes in their hands.

"Christian, we're in a nursery school classroom!"

"We're married, it's ok." And I kiss her again.

"Daddy! Mommy! You have to meet my new teacher," Teddy says. He's adorable in his little space ranger suit I had specially designed by men from NASA. When he speaks, he actually sounds all garbled and fuzzy like they do when they're in space.

"Oh yes, we'd love to," Ana says.

I expect to see a nice young teacher with a solid head on her shoulders and a calling to serve the country's youth. But, when I turn, all I see is a big, buzzing blur of yellow.

"This is Miss Tilly," Teddy says. She's dressed like a gigantic bumble bee and she's heading right for me with her stinger.

"Buzz, buzz," she says and laughs at her own joke as she shakes my hand over and over again. The grip on this woman is wrestle mania worthy. "It's so nice to meet you. I've been looking so forward to it."

"This is my wife, Ana," I grunt out. It's all I can say as I practically have to pry my throbbing hand away from the grip of her paw.

"Hello," she says to Ana. "I've heard so much about the Grey family." She then flips her head back to me so fast I thought she was acting out a scene from the exorcist.

"Oh, my cupcakes!" Ana says. "I have to get them out of the oven! Lovely to meet you, Miss Tilly!" She takes off.

"Ana, don't leave. Please don't leave," I say.

She left.

And Miss Tilly stays.

"You're a bee, huh?" I ask.

"The queen," she says and flutters the tarantula legs she's glued to her lids. Oh wait, those are supposed to be lashes.

"Teddy told us how you're hosting a Great Pumpkin celebration tonight," she says.

"Who's us?" I ask.

"In class today. Teddy announced when we shared costumes. It was so nice of you to invite everyone." She leans in. "By the way, I'm very impressed with your connection to NASA." She winks and I'm nearly taken out.

"Teddy?" I look to him. "You asked everyone to come tonight?"

"Yeah, just my friends. They laughed and didn't believe me, so I said they can come see."

"Well, okay. A few friends is fine—"

"We're all gonna to see the Great Pumpkin tonight!" Fritzy, Teddy's new little friend yells, and the entire school cheers. And by entire, I mean grades pre-K through five, plus all their family members.

"That's so cool of you for having that party tonight," Bo Tidwiler, another idiot father, says to me as he passes, dressed as Tarzan. The abs he's drawn on that beer gut with a marker are terrifying. He looks like a pregnant zebra. "We're ending trick-or-treating early just to see what you have planned."

Fuck! I don't want Bo Tidwiler in my patch.

"You bro," Elliot, dressed as a bag of baseball peanuts, says as he crosses the room with Root Beer Kavanagh and Hot Dog Ava. "I've been waiting to meet the Great Pumpkin since I stole all your candy every year as a kid." He laughs.

"Yeah, I can't wait to see you pull this off," Kavanagh says with snark.

"Well, if you can pull off a non-alcoholic beverage on Halloween, I can pull off the Great Pumpkin."  I snort a laugh and she sarcastically smirks.

"What are you anyway?" I ask Elliot.

"A ballgame concessions stand family." He looks me up and down and then up again." What the hell are you?"

"Papa Smurf. Ana's Smurfette. We wanted to do a couple's costume again."

"Papa Smurf and Smurfette aren't a couple. She's like his daughter."

Oh. My. God.

"You're fucking lying," I say.

"I'm not. Didn't you ever watch it? Everyone calls him Papa for a reason."

"I thought she was like Mama."

He doubles over in laughter. Oh fuck! Ana said everyone would know we're together, but that's not the together I want to be known for!

"Sir," Taylor rushes over to me before I have a chance to fully express my nervous breakdown. "I have news about tonight."

"I know. Teddy invited the entire school."

"I didn't know that, sir."

"Why the hell not? You should know everything about me before I do," I say. "Did you know Papa Smurf wasn't married to Smurfette?"

"I'm not sure, sir. But, I need to speak with you about the pumpkin patch."

"I know. We need more fun and games, maybe some extra carnival rides, definitely more pumpkins—"

"It's about the pumpkins, sir."

"What about them?"

"We don't have enough."

"How many do we have?"

"One hundred and twenty-seven, sir."

"That's not enough."

"I know, sir. That's what I said."

"Well, go buy some more!"

"That's the issue. The stores are sold out and apparently the crop was terrible. There was a worm."

"A worm?"

"That's what the produce man at Donald's told me."

"Why are you shopping at grocery stores? What about real pumpkin patches?"

"That's another problem, sir. A man by the name of Pa Parker runs six of the seven patches in the surrounding area. The seventh sold her last few yesterday and closed up shop."

"Well, get Pa Parker's, then."

"We tried. He won't sell us more than a dozen, especially after we mentioned your name. He's against big business and government."

"You're telling me an anarchist runs six pumpkin patches?"

"I would say more of a naturalist libertarian."

"Well, tell him we'll pay cash. It's like a huge "fuck you" to the government and he can use it to fund his anti-establishment podcasts.".

"I've tried, sir. But, he holds firm to his dozen pumpkin rule. He doesn't believe in the commercialization of the holiday or anyone having a monopoly on celebratory properties."

"He owns six of the seven patches! That's not even a monopoly, that's a dictatorship."

"I know, sir."

"This isn't business, this is for my kids in my backyard!"

"But, he doesn't believe it, since most people that would buy thousands of pumpkins wouldn't do it just for their kids."

"What would they do it for? What is there some sinister plot to collect pumpkins for global exportation, or something?"

"I'm not sure, Mr. Grey."

"Taylor, I can sell ice to an Eskimo. So, I can damn sure buy pumpkins off an anarchist. Get me in front of him."

Last half coming tomorrow...