Every October, Mike drove past rows of perfect pumpkins before choosing the ugliest one he could find.
His grandson finally called him out on it.
“Grandpa, are you even looking?”
Mike stopped beside a pumpkin that was nearly perfectly round.
“I am looking.”
“You just walked right past that one.”
“It'll be fine.”
“Too pretty.”
Caleb stared at him.
“Too pretty? "Mike”
Mike nodded seriously.
“That pumpkin knows it's pretty.”
Caleb laughed.
“You're weird.”
“I've been told.”
They were standing in the middle of the local pumpkin patch on a chilly Saturday afternoon. Families were everywhere. Kids were dragging little wagons behind them. Parents were taking pictures. Someone near the entrance was selling apple cider and homemade donuts.
Mike didn't seem interested in any of it.
He was searching.
Caleb knew what he was searching for now.
The worst pumpkin in the field.
They walked another few yards.
Then Mike stopped.
“There.”
Caleb followed his eyes.
The pumpkin was awful.
It was lopsided, pale orange in some places and green in others. One side had a long scar, and the stem looked like it had been snapped off.
Caleb looked at his grandfather.
“You're kidding.”
“Nope.”
“You actually like that one?”
Mike bent down and picked it up.
“Yep.”
“Why?”
Mike shrugged.
“Looks like it's had a rough year.”
Caleb laughed.
“That is not a reason to buy a pumpkin.”
“It is for me.”
He carried it toward the truck.
Caleb followed.
“Mom's going to laugh at you.”
“Your mom has been laughing at me for thirty years.”
“Fair.”
Mike put the pumpkin in the truck.
Then he stood there for a second, looking at it.
His smile changed.
Just a little.
Caleb noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Looking at something like you remember something.”
Mike closed the truck.
“Come on. Let's go home.”
Caleb didn't push it.
Not yet.
At home, they put the pumpkin on the porch.
Mike brought out two old carving knives.
Caleb looked at them.
“These are terrible.”
“They work.”
“One is bent.”
“Still works.”
“The other one has no handle.”
Mike looked at it.
“Huh.”
“You've been using these for how long?”
Mike thought about it.
“Probably longer than you've been alive.”
“That explains a lot.”
They started carving.
It went badly.
The first eye was crooked.
The second eye somehow ended up higher.
Caleb cut the mouth too deep, and a piece of pumpkin fell off.
He stared at it.
“Grandpa.”
“Yeah?”
“I think we ruined it.”
Mike looked at the pumpkin.
“No.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow.
“We definitely ruined it.”
Mike nodded.
“Okay. We ruined it.”
They both started laughing.
By the time they finished, the pumpkin looked ridiculous.
Mike put a candle inside.
Caleb stepped back.
“That's the ugliest pumpkin I've ever seen.”
Mike smiled.
“Perfect.”
Caleb looked at him.
“Okay. Seriously. Why do you do this every year?”
Mike sat down on the porch steps.
For a few seconds, he didn't answer.
The sun was going down behind the trees. A few leaves blew across the driveway.
Finally, he said, “Your mom used to pick ugly ones too.”
Caleb sat beside him.
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“When?”
“When she was little.”
“How little?”
“Six, maybe.”
Caleb looked at the pumpkin.
“What happened?”
Mike smiled.
“Well, back then, I didn't have much money.”
He picked up a loose pumpkin seed from the porch and rolled it between his fingers.
“Your mom wanted one of those big pumpkins. You know, the nice round ones.”
“Like the ones you won't buy now?”
“Exactly.”
“So why didn't you get one?”
Mike looked at him.
“Because they cost more than I wanted to spend.”
Caleb nodded.
Mike continued.
“I was working at the auto shop. Your mom was six. Your grandma was working too. We were paying bills and trying not to spend money we didn't have.”
He paused.
“I didn't tell Lily that, though.”
“So what happened?”
“I took her to the pumpkin patch.”
Mike smiled.
“She walked around for about twenty minutes. Picked up every pumpkin she liked. Put them down. Picked up another one.”
“Sounds like Mom.”
“Still does.”
Caleb laughed.
“Then she found one over by the fence.”
Mike pointed at the pumpkin in front of them.
“Looked a lot like this.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“What did she say?”
Mike smiled.
“She said, ‘Dad, this one.’”
“And you bought it?”
“Didn't have much choice. She'd already decided.”
Caleb laughed.
Mike leaned back on the step.
“I asked her if she really wanted that one. She said yes.”
“So, you bought it.”
“Yep.”
“What did it look like carved?”
Mike laughed.
“Terrible.”
“Worse than ours?”
“Much worse.”
“That's hard to believe.”
“It was missing half a face by the time we finished.”
Caleb laughed.
Mike smiled at the memory.
“Lily stood there looking at it. I thought she was going to be disappointed.”
“But she wasn't?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
Mike looked toward the pumpkin.
“She said, ‘I think this one just needed somebody to pick it.’”
Caleb was quiet.
“That sounds like something Mom would say.”
“Yeah.”
Mike smiled.
“I never forgot it.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Caleb asked, “So you buy the ugly pumpkin because it reminds you of her?”
Mike nodded.
“Pretty much.”
“Every year?”
“Every year.”
“What if there's a really good one?”
“I leave it for somebody else.”
Caleb laughed.
“Why?”
Mike shrugged.
“Somebody should get the good one.”
That night, Caleb went inside and told his mother the story.
Lily stood in the kitchen with a dish towel over her shoulder.
“You told him?”
Mike looked up from his chair.
“He asked.”
Lily smiled.
“You always picked the ugliest pumpkins.”
“You picked them.”
“I was six.”
“You had strong opinions.”
She laughed.
“I remember that pumpkin.”
Mike looked at her.
“I thought you didn't.”
“I do.”
She leaned against the counter.
“I remember you pretending you liked it.”
“I did like it.”
“You called it ugly.”
“I said it had character.”
Lily laughed.
“Same thing.”
Mike smiled.
They didn't talk about it anymore.
They didn't need to.
Some memories didn't need a speech.
They just stayed.
A few weeks later, Mike was cleaning out the garage when he found an old wooden box.
He opened it.
Inside was a brass compass.
He had bought it years earlier for Lily, back when she was preparing to leave for college.
She had been nervous about moving away.
Mike remembered standing in the driveway with her luggage packed into the car.
He hadn't known what to say.
He was good at fixing things.
Bad at goodbyes.
So, he'd given her the Go Confidently Compass.
It was a small brass compass engraved with the words:
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.”
Lily had turned it over in her hands.
“What's this for?”
Mike had shrugged.
“So, you don't get lost.”
She had laughed.
“Dad, I have GPS.”
“I know.”
“Then why a compass?”
Mike had thought about it.
“Because your phone can't tell you everything.”
She had smiled.
He remembered telling her that the compass wouldn't make decisions for her.
“It just reminds you that you picked a direction.”
Lily had taken it with her.
Years later, she still had it.
Mike had forgotten about it until that afternoon.
He closed the box and put it back on the shelf.
The next October, Caleb came with him to the pumpkin patch again.
This time, Mike didn't even have to ask.
Caleb started looking for the ugly ones immediately.
“There.”
Mike turned.
Caleb was standing beside a pumpkin that looked like it had been dropped down a flight of stairs.
Mike walked over.
He picked it up.
“Pretty bad.”
Caleb nodded.
“I think this is the one.”
Mike smiled.
“Yeah.”
They carried it to the truck.
On the way home, Caleb looked over at his grandfather.
“Do you think Mom remembers the compass?”
Mike nodded.
“She better.”
“You gave it to her?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Mike smiled.
“Same reason I bought the ugly pumpkin.”
Caleb waited.
Mike looked out the window.
“Sometimes you just want somebody you love to know you're rooting for them.”
Caleb didn't say anything.
He just nodded.
That Halloween, three generations sat on Mike's porch.
Lily came home.
Caleb brought the pumpkin.
Mike lit the candle.
It was still ugly.
Lily looked at it and laughed.
“You two really found a terrible one.”
Caleb grinned.
“Grandpa says that's the point.”
Lily looked at her father.
Mike shrugged.
“Tradition.”
She sat beside him.
For a while, they watched the neighborhood.
Kids ran from house to house.
Parents stood on porches.
Someone yelled that they were out of candy.
A dog barked at a kid dressed like a dinosaur.
It was an ordinary Halloween.
That's what Mike liked about it.
Nothing big happened.
Nobody made a speech.
Nobody needed to.
The ugly pumpkin sat on the porch.
The family sat beside it.
And inside the house, on a shelf in Lily's old room, sat the little brass Go Confidently Compass her father had given her years ago.
Different memories.
Different years.
Same idea.
You pick a direction.
You go.
And sometimes, the things that matter most aren't the perfect ones.
They're the things somebody chose because they meant something.
Even an ugly pumpkin.
The pumpkin didn't need to be perfect.
The compass didn't need to tell you everything.
Sometimes, it was enough to know that someone believed you'd find your way.
And every October, Mike still went looking for the ugliest pumpkin in the patch.
Now, he had someone beside him who understood why.
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