Before this year, I would have told you that Halloween was one of my favorite holidays. A celebratory, non-denominational kid pleaser of a holiday, replete with costumes, scares, magic, and mystery. For older teenagers and young adults alike, Halloween provides an excuse to let your hair down, encouraging sexy and silly frolics that can last past the witching hour.
I vividly recall that my mother would take great pride in making hand-fashioned costumes for my older sister and me. She cobbled together wonderful and inventive outfits. First, she would dye drab or worn clothes to produce a distinctive garb that was alternately fun and colorful or appropriately spooky. She would accessorize these transformed clothing items, employing an endless array of ordinary household items –antennae fashioned from wire hangers, papier mache’ that she would cut and paste to produce headgear, perhaps a cardboard sign (“take me to your leader”) attached to a wooden stick, makeup applied to create whiskers or facial hair, talcum powder applied to the hair to produce an aging effect.
One year I might be a one-eye, one-horn, flying purple people eater; the next, I might be transformed into the Pied Piper, leading a string of “charmed” rubber mice that she had attached to my cape by a thin wire. At risk of dating myself, I can remember my older sister, costumed as a CARE package, bringing home the prize for best costume awarded by the teachers at our elementary school. And win or lose, to celebrate Halloween every student was released from class a few minutes earlier than usual so he or she could participate in the traditional costume parade around the block before a gathered throng of adoring parents, some with pre-school toddlers or babies in tow. I kept a sharp eye, prepared to grin and wave if I happened to spot my mom, or an aunt or a familiar neighbor.
After the school parade, my friends and I dashed home, grabbed our paper grocery bags, and met up to “trick or treat” in earnest. Then, for the next couple of hours, until it got dark, and the streetlights came up to remind us that it was time to return home, it seemed that we kids ruled the streets. You might observe the youngest revelers being accompanied by an older sister as they methodically went door-to-door, but hardly saw any adults.
As a kid, I felt safe to trick or treat without hovering, omnipresent adults haunting our every step. Back then, parents seemed not worried in the least about lunatics living among us, taking sick pleasure serving up adulterated “treats” to the children. In fact, the first time I ever heard a television news report that some parent had discovered needles hidden inside of a Halloween taffy apple, I was already a teenager and past the age of trick or treating for candy.
Nonetheless, even as a grown man I enjoyed the trappings of Halloween. Especially this year, one year removed from the height of the pandemic, I was looking forward to the return of the trick and treaters, and a resumption of the time-honored traditions of my youth. I anticipated that kids of all shapes, sizes and ages would arrive at my home, ring my doorbell, and demand treats from me. In my mind, I could hear the sound of my gate slamming, and I could visualize the boldest of them bounding up the outside stairs, and, upon reaching the landing, excitedly pushing both upstairs and downstairs bells simultaneously, only to freeze momentarily at the sound of Lola the pup’s responsive barking coming from inside the vestibule.
As always, my plan was to open the door wearing a mask of my own –nothing too horrible—so that after the briefest shock, both the bold kids and the little ones, whom I expected to see holding back with trepidation on a step below the landing, simultaneously would shout, “Trick or treat!” And then everyone, the kids, me, their beaming parents standing outside the wrought iron gate, would laugh and smile. I would give each costumed individual an approving once-over before handing out generous portions of booty.
At least, that was my plan.
***
Sunday afternoon, I dropped off Robyn, and hurried home to get ready for the arrival of the trick and treaters. I placed a welcoming Halloween sign on the fence and removed the treats from the pantry to have them closer at hand just in case I did not see or hear their approach.
So I waited to hear my gate close, to hear the trampling feet of kids rushing up the stairs, followed by multiple rings of my doorbell. And then I wait some more.
As I am awaiting the arrivals, I note that it is overcast, but rain is not being predicted. I can feel that the temperature is below normal, made cooler by a brisk breeze. The air feels cool against exposed skin, but it is not so cold that any eager kids on the prowl for candy will be detoured. Heck, I recall trick and treating while the wind howled wild, and it poured rain. I can even remember one or two occasions when it was so cold on Halloween that the sky was spitting snow.
***
Eventually, I leave my home and step outside onto the porch. From there I can see packs of kids with their parents gathered at the far end of the block, standing on either side of our street.
I observe two of my neighbors sitting on the steps of their porch. I leave my property and approach them. I ask, where are all the kids, and am told that they have already come and gone. The remnants are gathered at the far end of our street. I wonder aloud, “don’t kids ring doorbells these days?” And to my surprise, I learn the answer, in our neighborhood at least, is no. In 2021 it appears the preferred approach to trick or treating on Halloween is to leave the treats sitting in a bowl outside of the curtilage, trusting the kids to only grab a fair share as they and their parents hurry by. I am informed that many parents prefer it this way, believing that it is the only safe and prudent practice in such unusual times.
But I persist. Isn’t the whole point of the phrase “trick or treat” an implicit threat of mischief if an adult homeowner doesn’t pony up when the little darlings come ‘round his door asking for a treat? One neighbor merely shrugs, says nothing. The other neighbor answers, “I dunno.” They look at each other, stand up, and step back inside their home.
***
I walk back to my own property, remove the Halloween sign, lock the front gate behind me and close my door for the evening. I feel deflated.
***
It is now early November, and I am staring at the unopened bag of delicious Halloween candy that is still sitting exactly where I put it on October 31. All 150 pieces, including such personal favorites as Kit Kats, Mounds, Reese Cups, Peppermint Patties, Musketeers, Snickers, M&Ms —plain and peanut—to mention some. My mouth is watering in anticipation. I hear the bag calling to me: Hey, fat boy, just tear me open. Don’t you love me anymore?
As I say, before this year, I would unequivocally have stated that Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Now, as I tear through the wrapper of another Kit Kat, its magic spell seems to have been broken.