In anticipation of the evening’s fun, I had purchased six bags of candies: Twizzlers, Hershey’s dark mini-bars, and for variety, some Reece’s peanut butter cups. There were no disappointing stickers, pencils, or sugar-free suckers here. Kids coming to our house could expect the highest quality Halloween fare for their creative labors.
Porch light on. Jack-o-lanterns lit. Dragonfly costume donned. I was ready for the river of adorableness and gratitude to flow past my front door.
While waiting, I reminisced about the menagerie of costumes my siblings and I used to wear. We turned up our noses at those commercial getups: the flimsy, plastic mask of your favorite cartoon character and cheap tieback suit emblazoned with matching logo. Why would He-Man wear an outfit with his own face printed on the tummy? Why would Wonder Woman not carry a golden lasso? The rule at my house was nothing store-bought. We had to make our own.
One year I went as a bunch of grapes, another year a birthday present. The poster-board wings of my bat costume were cute, but my arms grew tired from repeated demonstrations that I was not Batgirl. One year, my friend and I went as a two-headed monster. The next, I was a robot--a cardboard box covered in shiny foil, paper tube arms, and a flashing LED on an elaborate control panel. Now that was a great costume!
The doorbell disturbed my nostalgic reverie. The trick-or-treaters had arrived! When I opened the door, what would I see? “Please let it be something creative, something hysterical, something downright precious,” I thought. I didn’t want to run out of candy before the real geniuses had arrived.
But when I answered the door, I was stunned. The two kids on my porch were not wearing costumes. They looked at me nervously, arms outstretched, empty loot bags agape. One mumbled an incomprehensible phrase ending in “treat.”
Perhaps there was a misunderstanding. Was I missing a subtle clue? Perchance they had jettisoned an itchy mask or an uncomfortable accessory. Were they superheroes in their daytime alter-ego attire? Did the one with glasses look anything like Harry Potter on summer vacation? No, in fact, they were not wearing costumes. Nor had they ever any intention of doing so. There I was, a crazy lady in a sparkling cocktail dress, hastily stitched diaphanous wings, and crooked antennae staring down at two beggar children.
I gave them their candy. I tried to be friendly. I didn’t say a word about their naïve social blunder. I shook it off, hoping that the next transaction would go better. Nearly an hour passed before a princess and a power ranger arrived. Later, two other sets of costume-less kids came and went, but that was it. At ten o’clock, I turned off the porch light. I was stuck with five pounds of candy and a bad case of the “what-happened-to-the-good-old-days.”
Now, I understand that being a kid these days might be tough. Neighborhoods are purportedly not as safe as they used to be. Parents work longer hours. Weekly allowances can’t keep up with inflation rates. More yummy foods seem to be bad for you than ever before. Politically correct agencies increasingly take the fun out of religious and secular holidays, all in the name of cultural sensitivity. But, whatever happened to Halloween?
There’s evidence of its existence at every corner store. Seasonal shelves groan with giant bags of candy, orange holiday lights, and plastic singing pumpkins. But, where are the paper-bag vests, tinfoil armbands, and picnic-plate masks of yesteryear? Are pipe cleaners now considered unsafe? Has glitter been shown to cause asthma? Do we mind that a whole generation of children has been robbed of participating in America’s greatest creative tradition? I mind. And, if it takes handing out costumes along with candy this year, I’m going to put the fun back into trick-or-treating.
* * *
This photo is from a couple years ago, but it's a great illustration of how it should be:
Ada's parents are keeping the Halloween flame lit!
