Our Girl Scout Service Unit* holds an annual Halloween party in late October. It transforms the church gym into a Halloween playground with decorations and booths. They ask each troop to provide candy and entertainment for the party-going Girl Scouts and tag-a-longs*. These booths range from games like “wrap the mummy” and “pumpkin bowling” to gross out bowls of squishy mystery items only the brave dare stick their tiny fingers. There are also the craft tables… coloring sheets, DIY masks, lollipop spider creations. Occasionally a haunted house would pop up in a valiant attempt by the older scouts to scare their little scouting sisters.
If you have never been to a church gym filled with 200 excited children, let me give you a piece of advice. Bring earplugs. Two hundred excited scouts, friends, and siblings dressed in their Halloween finest arrive at that party ready to, well… PARTY! Two hundred witches, ghosts, princesses, and wild animals run, jump, skip, and scream their way around the maze of people and booths lining the gym walls. Hyped up on sugar and adrenaline; as the evening wears on, the chaos grows.
Don’t forget the earplugs.
By our fourth year attending the party, my coleader (Mary) and I had learned a thing or two.
No crafts. There was too much effort, too much supervision needed for the craft. Our girls had gotten to the age of reason and ability. There was no way we were going back to the days of keeping a kindergartener from eating glue.
No games. While the girls ALWAYS wanted to run a game, the magical pull of the Halloween party meant it left the adults to chase errant pumpkins and clean up unwrapped toilet paper.
Left with only one option, the activity booth, we decided on fortune telling. Mary and I would dress up as fortune tellers and tell fortunes. We gathered our supplies. The girls could choose between wooden boxes filled with bones, insects, eyeballs, and colored glass beads which we would scatter on the table. These items would assist us in reading their fortune. Tell the fortune and hand over the lollipop. Done!
Party night arrived. The doors opened. The girls streamed in, rushing from booth to booth, eager to gather all the candy they could fit in their trick-or-treat bags. Quickly, a line formed for our fortune telling services. We scattered bones. We stared at eyeballs. We told every single girl that came to stand in front of us they would one day become famous, have lots of pets, make lots of money, and make the world a better place. Every. Single. Girl.
Of course, each girl had an individualized plan for the amazing life she would someday lead. Some became President. Some were movie stars. Some made their money as a doctor. Some inherited their money from a long-lost aunt. Some girls brought about world peace. Some cured disease.
We had some repeat customers. It seems curing cancer, owning two horses, and living on the beach was not enough information. They’d show up a second time, tiara askew, earnest brown eyes under straight-cut bangs asking for even more details. Even worse, sometimes they’d ask for the same fortune, just so their friend could hear this exceptional life we’d promised them.
As the evening wore on, it became clear Mary and I would not have a break in our constant line of fortune-hungry girls. As the first hour passed, our voices grew hoarse repeating the bright future and carefree days ahead. Our supply of good news shortened with every fortune told. Everyone still got their fame, fortune, and pets, but in an abbreviated manner. Here’s your money. Here’s your job. Here’s your pet.
The crowd thinned as the event drew close to closing. The gym quieted. Booths torn down. One little princess remained in our line. A repeat customer.
It grew quiet enough I could hear my scratchy, wavering voice as I told this final fortune.
“First, you’ll have a little money. Then you’ll have a lot of money. And then you’ll have a medium amount of money. Then you’ll have a lot of money again.”
There was no talk of careers, of animals, of fame. No description of the brilliant future in store for this little scout. I did nothing more than describe her future bank account.
It was the only honest fortune I told that evening.
*See Girl ScoutTerms
The Marvel of the Ordinary Life 