Our rainy summer was still in full swing when, as seems to be retail practice these days, stores started displaying their Halloween merchandise -- much to the delight of children, who are drawn to colorful decorations that make howling sounds, and much to the irritation of moms, who have to explain why August is too early to start buying Halloween candy.

Although much of the season's finery is ghoulish, it doesn't seem to bother my 2-year-old son, Jack -- at least he isn't having nightmares because of it. He looks forward to walking up the street almost every nice evening to see the ghost, witch and Frankenstein decorations at various houses. Jack especially likes to touch one neighbor's plastic skeleton, which he and his dad have dubbed "Skeletor."

Perhaps the more traditional demons don't frighten Jack because he's been fending off some unusual nocturnal invaders since my husband and I took him to a James Taylor concert in July. Yes, my son's initiation into the world of bedtime monsters all started with the man known for "Sweet Baby James" and other gentle songs.

We hadn't had an evening out in a while. When the opportunity arose for free tickets to the James Taylor concert at the Post-Gazette Pavilion, we were delighted. There were enough tickets to invite friends and, with some hesitation, we also thought it would be OK to take Jack.

It was a lovely, warm evening, and he's a boy who's often singing and bouncing up and down to the rhythm of music. He has fun strumming an old guitar that used to be mine and singing into a toy microphone, so we thought Jack would like seeing a musician in person. We had guilt about delaying his bedtime, but, right or wrong, we forged ahead with our plan.

As we expected, Jack stomped his feet and swayed to the music and seemed to have a better time than all the other people enjoying the concert. In our area of the lawn, nobody appeared to be annoyed at our dancing toddler.

Because we were far from the stage, some even seemed to enjoy Jack's performance set to Taylor's music. And Jack gave the singer/songwriter his highest compliment: "James Taylor's funny."

At one point, my husband took Jack a little closer to the stage to get a better look. When they came back, Jack said, "James Taylor's loud." Then he resumed dancing, singing and running around at the back of the lawn section until it was time for us to make a quick escape. We changed him into his pajamas, and he slept peacefully on the way home as well as the whole night through in his safe, cozy bed.

James Taylor was the focus of Jack's conversation the next day and for at least the next week. He'd ask, "Where's James Taylor?"; I'd tell him that he was at his own house. Or he'd say, "James Taylor's funny" or "James Taylor sings." But his concert review also started to include a new comment: "James Taylor's scary."

We thought it must have been the combination of bright stage lights, the images of the performers on big screens and the volume of a live musical performance that made James Taylor seem a bit frightening. When I mentioned Jack's remarks to my co-workers, one asked whether Taylor had sung "You've Got a Fiend."

One night, via the baby monitor, we heard Jack stirring, then calling for us. I went into his room and he said, "James Taylor's scary, Mommy." I told him that I didn't think he was scary. But Jack was convinced that James Taylor was in his closet.

I sat with him in the rocking chair for a while, and together we asked Mr. Taylor to go home. Jack pointed to the top of the door and said, "Bye, bye, James Taylor," and waved as his visitor apparently left. Jack soon went back to sleep.

On many mornings when we would get into the car and turn on the CD player, Jack would say, "I want James Taylor," and he still liked to look at the singer's picture on the CD cover. Perhaps it's the curiosity many people have about demons and ghosts; by day he was attracted to and fascinated by what frightened him at night.

I'm happy to report that Jack is no longer being terrorized by James Taylor. However, a new specter moved in after we visited Idlewild Park and took Jack on the Mister Rogers' Neighborhood of Make-Believe trolley ride, where he saw life-size, talking versions of the neighborhood's residents. King Friday XIII made quite an impression, and now the king occasionally startles Jack at night and is the topic of conversation during the day. When Jack asks to see King Friday on TV, he thinks the regal puppet is alternately "scary" or "nice."

The king seems to have stuck around longer than James Taylor, but fortunately is not a daily or even weekly nighttime visitor. Most recently, he dropped by briefly last week to hide under Jack's bed. We asked him to go back to his castle, and he complied.

The early arrival of Halloween costumes in stores got me to thinking about what Jack might like to be for the occasion. I don't like the idea of young children being dressed as monsters; I say get them into a cute pumpkin outfit while you still can.

We asked Jack what he would like to be. To our surprise, his answer was "Gene Kelly." We have a video of "Singin' in the Rain," and months ago my husband thought Jack might like to see the song-and-dance numbers in the movie. Now Jack looks for props to use for some of the routines, such as a book to toss while he does his version of tap dancing to "Moses Supposes" and a hat, glasses and something to use as a suitcase for "Broadway Melody." If no props are available, he pretends to have them.

Although he has expressed a preference in his toddler-speak to be Gene Kelly with a hat, glasses and suitcase, we've talked about the possibility of being Gene Kelly with an umbrella and yellow slicker. At least the neighbors might have some idea who he's supposed to be.

Although it's a creative challenge for us, I'm glad that my son, at his tender age, would like to be a joyful character of this world. After all, he might have wanted to be a ghoul, like James Taylor.