OK, I’ll just say it boldly. Halloween isn’t my favorite holiday. In fact, it’s right below Labor Day in terms of my expectations, what with running to the door to disburse endless quantities of sweets for which I’ve paid a king’s ransom. Many folks don’t feel as I do, planning elaborate decorations and building up great stores of candy. I don’t ignore it, but in full disclosure, I’d like to.
Let’s face it. Halloween is for the young. Halloween is for little ones in fun costumes and collecting candy. Excitement and anticipation. Parents and acquiring all of the necessary bits and bobs for costumes and makeup. I do have to say that I like the creativity of many. The “Wet Bandits” on the television commercial last year are great. And I have to admit, I’ve noticed that everyone, no matter how small, says “thank you” for their candy donations. So, manners and etiquette are pleasant outcomes.
I should start buying now, in a departure from my traditional waiting until the 29th or 30th. How many will we have, and consequently, how much to buy? Our first house was in the neighborhood where my wife was a teacher and the local school principal, so the children came from miles around to see us. We went through enough candy to singlehandedly boost the bottom lines of several major candy producers. Our second house was out of town on a beautiful but secluded cul-de-sac. There were neighborhoods around, but they never found us. After the first year, we realized that one or two packs of candy bars would do it. Now, our condo, located in a large and contained cluster of homes, is in the center of town, and we’re a mecca for trick-or-treaters. Cars are parked up and down the streets as parents drop off their ghouls, goblins, pirates, and princesses and wish them good luck. I’ve never really kept track of the numbers, but my neighbor does, and it averages somewhere just shy of one hundred. We’re back to buying bags upon bags, hoping not to run out. Timing is important too, because buying too far ahead tempts me to “sample” a few items, none of which I need. But if I wait too long, the stores are sold out. That’s not good either. A couple of years ago, I had that “oh, crap” moment requiring last minute buying. Of course, the grocery stores were sold out, as were the other outlets I visited. Someone mentioned that they thought Walmart still had candy. Mercifully, they did. Last year, I just went to Walmart first and picked up a couple of cart loads. On the way home, I made a quick stop at the nearby supermarket. And there, in all of its magnificence, was a whole aisle of candy, prices marked down no less. That’s pretty much the way my life often goes.
We’ve all had, as most people do, Halloween “experiences” that stay with us. When I was in about third grade, we lived in Woburn, just outside Boston, in a family-friendly neighborhood with lots of kids. We’d go out in gangs to trick-or-treat. My brother, who was older, was given strict instructions to keep an eye on my sister and myself. Somewhere along the way, we got separated, but our neighbors, a lovely family with two teenagers who babysat for us often, took me under their wing, and off we went. We went all over, to streets I’d never seen, collecting vast amounts of loot. My brother and sister, of course, returned home without me, at which time my mother’s imagination went wild. She was picturing my bloodied, mangled body in a ditch some place or being found in an abandoned basement months later. But I was, of course, unaware that anything was wrong. My father went out looking for me, which didn’t bode well for my return either. This was in the ‘50’s, when widespread trick-or-treating was still pretty safe. The neighbors dropped me at our house on their way home, where my mother delivered one of her trademark tongue-lashings, while I tried to protest that I was with Peter and Barbara, and perfectly safe the whole time. The true tragedy was that I had to share my overflowing haul with my siblings. Several years before that, we were going out and it was a great event – my sister’s first Halloween. She was wearing a cowgirl outfit sent by relatives from Arizona, and she looked, as my mother described it, “adorable”. She made it as far as the front door before my best friend came flying down the hill toward our house in a ghost costume. Screams of terror came from my sister’s young mouth. She ran and hid in the kitchen, and didn’t come out until well after trick-or-treating was over.
Many years later, when we’d moved to our first house, my wife took our daughter, who was three at the time, out to canvas the nearby houses, while I stayed home to pass out the candy. At the neighbor’s house, the mother was dressed all in black and with heavy make-up, sitting in a rocking chair. As Betsy and her mother climbed up the porch steps, the lady rose from the chair, prompting my wife to utter a scream of surprise. She’d thought the neighbor was just a prop – a life-sized doll, but that event has become embedded in family lore as “the scream that shook Fairview Avenue”.
One Halloween, one of my staff members was getting married, so we were attending the wedding. The wedding and reception were very, very nice, but it also meant that we would not be home, which isn’t really good on Halloween. I left a bowl of candy on the front porch on a tray table with a sign indicating that trick-or-treaters should take some. One did, apparently, because on our return, we found the candy, the bowl, and the sign gone. Only the table remained. Another year, I was hurrying to get our dinner ready before the onslaught, and managed to trip over a table in the front hallway on which I’d put the bowls of candy. I, the dinner, and the candy went sprawling. I drove myself to Urgent Care because I’d cut my hand on a broken plate, while my in-laws came to clean up the mess. The nurse stitched me up, thinking the story rather brightened her Halloween shift, but it ended our candy distribution, and I felt a bit Grinch-like that year.
My neighbor really gets into the spirit of Halloween. She will be out hanging lights and decorations on a stepladder, which at her advanced age, and her sense of balance long since departed, isn’t a particularly good idea. She’ll drag her husband, who is even less steady on his feet, out to help set up. Each year, I fully expect to see an ambulance or two pull up, lights flashing, to pick them up off the driveway and take them away to the emergency room.
I’ve noticed that some folks are paying exorbitant amounts for those huge skeletons and “lawn monsters” to put in their front years. One such house, which I pass on the way to the grocery store, has been decorated like that for, well, it seems like ages. I guess they need to feel they’re getting their money’s worth. In September, I had occasion to visit the Home Depot across the street, and screaming sound effects were filling the store from I know not what or where. I asked one of the clerks how long they’d have to live with that, and he told me that you “get used to it.” No, I don’t think I would. As a concession to the holiday, I purchased a couple of small pumpkins from a local farm stand for the front porch the other day, knowing full well that some family of small beasties will have eaten into them well before Halloween arrives. A pumpkin with holes in it and guts spilling out is as close as I’ll come to “spooky”. I see it more as annoying, having to scrape pumpkin seeds and dried orange messes off the steps. As I grow older, I find the allure of Halloween, and all its traditions, just a bit tiresome. Yes, we’ll give out candy – I’m not the Grinch of Halloween. Yes, I’ll admire the costumes, and yes, I’ll even smile and pretend that I’m having great fun. But just so you’ll know, I’m not. In reality, I’m counting the minutes until everyone’s gone home and I can turn off the lights and lock the doors. And check to see if there are any stray pieces of candy left! Don’t tell anyone.
