e haven’t had trick-or-treaters since the first Halloween at our last apartment 12 years ago.
We knew little goblins and princesses would be reluctant to approach a six-flat. So we stood in our yard with a candy-filled cauldron—our trusty costumed pets by our sides to prove we were harmless. Our snow-white feline donned pink bunny ears for the occasion and our hound tolerated a devil get-up of cape and horns.
It was a cold and rainy night in a rough-around-the-edges urban neighborhood. We had few visitors.
But suddenly, there were six or seven children lined up at our gate, holding out their plastic pumpkins and bags for goodies. I was delighted.
And then embarrassed. For as I was dispensing candy at one end of the line, the pooch had her long nose in a child’s bag at the other end. It was a perfect strategy: While the children were focused on the treats they were about to receive from me, my hound would divest the children of their previous bounty.
I raced through the line before the children knew what was happening. No tears or scares, thank goodness. But no more Halloweens like that, either.
This year, I wanted to do something for the holiday. The city we’ve moved to has an annual zombie parade that I intended to see yet missed. Nevertheless, I made up for it by joining a neighbor to pass out treats.
We sat on her front porch with her canine and kitty. She’d already run out of 250 pieces of candy before I arrived (which tells you something about the demographics of my new hood). Trends I noticed: Not many children wore masks—another cultural shift for the holiday. There were a surprising number of Star Wars characters, mostly boys, and little girls favored a fairy motif (inspired by the Tinkerbell movies, perhaps?). The children were polite, the weather was lovely, and I managed to meet a few more neighbors.
I finished the evening by watching a zombie comedy with my husband.
Friends, children, pets, and laughter: a perfect combination for happiness whatever the occasion.
[Drop cap by Jessica Hische.]
