Weaning off of Halloween

Halloween in my adopted hometown is like it was, maybe fifty years ago, across America. Or maybe like it never was.

I remember growing up in Springfield, the almost, mid-sized city that it was, and hearing the stories of the razorblades in apples. But then I also remember walking around block-after-block of the city of homes, with just a few friends (read: two at most) to a game of how far can we get away from home for maximum candy at minimum effort. And I remember the first year some older, more enterprising kids realized it was more effort-effective to find some kids playing that game (out of their element) and take their candy instead of putting in all that effort themselves. Cheap halloween costumes—the kind with the thin vaccum-formed masks that don't last the night, made as excellent a disguise for a mugger as a trick-or-treater. I remember that was the last year I went out, trick-or-treating. I satisfied myself after that with scaring the other trick-or treaters who came to our door, the only one in my household staying up to answer the doorbell into the wee hours on a school night. It was pretty solitary.

But here in the hills of Western Mass, it's pretty different. This town is so small, all the kids of trick-or-treating age all go to the same school, and all know each other. Any bullies here, and the entire student body would know them, parents and teachers included. Anybody snatching candy would be mobbed enmasse. Everyone congregates in the center of town (the most heavily poulated area), kids can roam freely from house to house, and, to quote Cheers, everybody knows your name. I've never experienced anything like it. Parents can stop off for a beer at the Inn as their kids make the rounds, and meet them in half an hour back in the parking lot. After the haunted hay ride, at the playground. Which is free. And with a bag of candy that is taint-free. It was pretty old-fashioned, and remarkable as such.

Beyond that, there was a bevy of parents who shadowed their kids to every stop, and were happy to add our number into their mix. Just to the end of the driveway, mind you. Can't cramp their style. And one father remarked that this was enough exercise, walking up the hills around the center of town, without having also to trek up the long driveways to the front doors. Together we marvel at the fact that we can feel so warm and so safe in such a scary season, in such a scary world. It's pretty amazing.

Nine-year old "big T" locked onto his friends immediately, and we expected Five-year old "little T" to want to do the same with his own friends. But his big concern was keeping up with his big brother, wanting to go only to the houses he did, struggling to keep up. Wanting to be as cool. God, don't we all strive for that unachievable coolness of the person you most look up to, real or imagined. Until you realize that person is just that—a person. And the haunted house is just some people in masks throwing around cows livers, and the glowing skull is battery-powered, and Mom and Dad, who said you could go off on your own, are still within earshot and watching you. But until you realize all of that, you're in the presence of greatness, and independently invincible, and just as cool as you want to be.

This is what Halloween used to be like, in my imagination. And damned if it wasn't just like that, last night.