I always grew up thinking pumpkin carving was a long and difficult process that took skill and concentration. My cousin, who was close to my mom’s age, always emphasized this and so this was how it was done. I did not realize until I watched a young boy of twelve carve a pumpkin. While I scraped and shaved the tough skin he stabbed at the flesh, creating demon eyes with arched brows. While I shaped and carved he pried and sliced, finally pulling out a chunk of gaping mouth in the middle of the face. He finished his more quickly than I did, saying that his didn’t look like the picture and that he had messed up. I kept working and he kept looking. Finally I looked at him and told him his was the best, better than mine. He smiled and went inside, but I kept working. I shaved and carved until there was no light from the sky, only then did I stop and put the tools away for tomorrow. If only I could be so lucky as the little boy with tool in hand, jabbing away at what could be perfection.