November 1, 2013
Dear Everyone:
Halloween.
Trick-or-Treat.
The two are synonymous here in America.
I vaguely remember when Trick-or-Treat began for us in the early 1950s.
Actually, what I remember was sitting at the dinner table while
our mother complained to our father that it was “just another gimmick by
the merchants to get us to buy things.”
Well, duh.
When I was a kid (back in the Stone Age), you couldn’t go out
Trick-or-Treating until you reached the age of five.
This, of course, was our parents’ rule.
Other kids yes, us no.
When you got to five you already knew all about the costumes and
candy from older and wiser children who knew their way around the
custom.
You wore a costume. Usually
one that your older sister-or-brother had already broken in, or you made
something up. Baggy
trousers, charcoal smeared on your cheeks and chin, to simulate a beard,
and a bandana hanging from a stick announced:
Hobo. Bright gathered
skirt, dangling earrings and lots of makeup meant:
Gypsy.
You went to a house that had the front light on.
You rang the doorbell.
When the door opened, you piped:
“Trick or Treat!!!” and held up your bag.
Usually someone tossed some candy into the bag.
Sometimes they cooed over how cute you were.
Even better, sometimes they let you choose from a basket of
goodies (“Only one!” This to
the greedy gluts trying to grab as much as possible with both hands.)
The first year, age five, you wore your pajamas and went as “Wee Willie
Winkie” (“…runs through the town, upstairs and downstairs in his
nightgown…”) And you only
got to go to the first two or three houses.
Then it was back home and to bed while the older children were
free to ramble and collect lots more candy.
And another thing: You
couldn’t go out Trick-or-Treating until after dinner.
Purely by coincidence, our mother always chose that night to
serve something truly revolting like squash, cauliflower or broccoli.
No candy until you cleared your plate.
It was all a conspiracy.
Once you got past the age of twelve, Trick-or-Treat was definitely “not
cool”. Only “little kids”
did that. Instead, boys like
“Richard” went out looking for trouble with large cans of shaving cream
in their possession.
“Richard” came home one night reeking of menthol and covered with soap.
Mother made him stand in the back yard while she, literally,
hosed him off.
When I first moved to my current abode four years ago, I asked my
neighbor about Halloween.
Would there be any Trick-or-Treaters?
She said no. I
guessed at the time that most people took their kids to the local
shopping mall.
More recently I realized it was because there just weren’t a lot of
little kids in our community.
But lately more and more young families were moving in, so I had
hope that adorable little critters might be showing up.
So I prepared.
Two Jack-o’-lanterns, one for the front door and one for the top of the
patio fence, which faces the street.
Big bag of candy.
Porch light on.
A little after 6:00 pm, the first little tyke showed up, shepherded by
his mother (“ring the doorbell”…”hold out your bag”…”say ‘Thank You’!”)
Then, about fifteen minutes before 9:00, the unofficial end of
Trick-or-Treat time, three older youngsters appeared.
That was it: Four.
Certainly more than last year.
About half what I would have seen at my previous place.
That was Halloween for this year.
The carved pumpkins are already in the dumpster.
As for all the leftover candy, no problem.
I’ll take it to “Jeannie’s” this weekend.
She’s well known in her neighborhood by the local children.
They’ll take care of it.
Love, as always,
Pete
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