Yesterday's story about the Halloween Disaster of 1964 was told from only one side - my own personal point of view, which of course goes, "Oh, the terrible things that happen to me." All of our personal narratives are about ourselves, and how unjust the world is to us, without considering the burdens we place on those around us.
Consider my poor mother - naturally worried about her son out on that most dangerous of nights trick-or-treating with his friends at an age where he's too old to want to have his mother tagging along but too young to deal with adversity without running home to her. Young enough to want some nurturing and a little TLC when things go wrong, but old enough to not want to admit it as he holds back the tears.
So his poor mother has to comfort her son, and although she really just wants him to just stay home and be safe, she knows she has to let him to go back out on the holiday night and return to his trick-or-treating adventures. She still worries what might/could happen to him (not to mention the rest of her brood) but she knows she has to let go of her maternal concerns and fears, and on top of all that, now she's apparently the one who has to clean the dog shit off his dirty, smelly sneaker.