It started back before we even had kids. We'd have friends over for pumpkin-carving contests, judging the chopped-up pumpkin carcasses in the categories of scariest, funniest and most original.

Then when the kids came along, the contest evolved into a family affair. The down side of that is obvious to any dad out there. Before the boys carved their happy or spooky little faces on their hollowed orange gourds, I had to scoop all the goop out of the inside of each one.

No matter how you slice it, that is not an enjoyable job. Every year I was up to my elbow in pumpkin guts, and every year I faced the same dilemma ... what to do with all that junk.

Strings and seeds and pulp and juice all coagulating into one big ball of glop. It took me years to realize that a paper grocery bag was not exactly the best means of disposal. By the time I cleaned out four of those gourds, the weight and moisture of the growing ball of glop burst right through the bag and onto the kitchen floor.

What a mess!

But as if that wasn't enough, my wife came up with a brilliant idea quite a few years back.

"It seems like such a waste to just throw all of that away," she said. (That was back in her all-natural stage, when she insisted on making all of the baby food herself instead of just buying a couple of jars of Gerber's!)

"You know, my teacher said you could roast pumpkin seeds in the oven," said the oldest, who was about 10 or 11 at the time.

"Oh, I don't think ... "

"Well, that's a great idea," she said, interrupting me before I could tell him just how bad an idea that really was. "That's just what we'll do."

"It'll be fun," she added, then turned to me and said, "It will be a great lesson for the kids. They'll see how our ancestors made use of all of their resources when they lived off the land. Now, dump all of that stuff on the table. We have to separate the seeds from the pulp, then spread them on a cookie sheet, bake them for ... "

"Can't we just buy a bag of pumpkin seeds at the 7-Eleven?" I asked hopelessly. "I think it costs about 50 cents."

"Our ancestors did not have a 7-Eleven!" she snapped.

Yeah, well they didn't have a polished oak dinette set with pumpkin juice seeping into all of the cracks and crevasses and leaking onto the chair cushions either!

I was reminded of this messy experience by an invitation I received from one of our reporters last week. Lisa invited me to join the staff for a good ol' fashioned pumpkin-carving party.

"Come on," she said, "it'll be fun."

"Yeah," I replied, "and I'll bet you're even going to save the seeds to roast them."

"Well, Linh thought that would be a good idea," she admitted.

Sure, and who do we think would be the one helping all the young reporters clean out their pumpkins? Me, up to my elbow once again in seeds, glop and juice!

So do I plan to get out the carving knives, get out goop-scooping tools, get out the candles and get out the recipe for toasted pumpkin seeds? Not me. I was at Macy's last week and found the perfect pumpkin. It was made out of some sort of lightweight material—maybe paper mache, or Styrofoam. Whatever it was, it was an authentic-looking jack-o'-lantern, complete with smiling face, triangle eyes and nose, and a battery-operated light inside.

And best of all ... no seeds, no goop, and no mess!

Sure, call me the Halloween Grinch. But somehow I think our ancestors would understand.

Want to talk? Call me at 408.354.3110, ext. 31, or drop me a note at dsparrer@svcn.com.