Nightmare on Dover Street
When we were kids, Halloween was scary! The threat of razor blades in apples felt real. Trouble boys in street clothes threw eggs from their cars. When we got home, we cut our candy in half and inspected the boxes of raisins and sticks of gum. Just to be safe.
But we trick-or-treated anyway—to raise money for UNICEF, which to this day helps children and families whose lives and futures hang in the balance. A good night’s haul was full box of pocket change we could turn in at school in the morning.
Going out in the dark was an act of service. Though my health-conscious mother siphoned most of my candy into the garbage, hungry children—somewhere on the planet—would eat.
And the costumes back then? They still haunt me! Walking dead people with long Sharpie scars. Pasty white faces made of caked-on makeup. Makeshift witches dragging real brooms.
Halloween brings back memories of my frugal parents who thought store-bought costumes for growing children were a one-and-done waste. I have a vague memory of bringing home a pumpkin to carve, but feeling terrible about the uneaten pulp. We lived in Miami Beach and turning on the oven in October to bake pumpkin bread never crossed our minds. I didn’t yet know the seeds were edible.
This year, I’m still unpacking from a long trip, and I forgot about Halloween. Until a pack of kids and their parents came to the door.
I froze. I had no candy. My puppy howled bloody murder. I couldn’t even admire their attire. So I ran to my study and wrote some sticky notes for the door. My aim was gently let future bell-ringers know I meant well but had nothing to offer.
I’m sorry, but we have no candy.
Oops, I forgot it’s Halloween. Sorry.
I’ll try again to remember next year.
Sugar is poison. (No I didn’t post that outside. But I did keep it for me.)
Halloween is a boon to the economy, especially now. It drives traffic to stores before the holiday season. Creates demand for twelve-foot tall skeletons with LCD eyes ($299). Americans spent $10.6 billion dollars this year, exceeding last year’s record of $10.1 billion.
To me, that’s scary! Surely I’m not alone in hoping for simplicity as we head into the holiday season.
Celebrating—Halloween and Thanksgiving and Hanukkah and Christmas—can be fun. And we also might enjoy some restraint.
Lest we end this post on a Sour Patch note, I do have one great Halloween memory as a mom.
My son dressed as Emeril Lagasse in a white dress shirt and three-dollar toque. His drawn-on eyebrows made him immediately recognizable as the famous chef. The silver mixing bowl and whisk for collecting candy were functional. We extended the fun into November, with tickets to Emeril, Live! in New York for his birthday. In December, our kitchen became an assembly line of spices and little jars. For teacher gifts, he made Baby Bam spice mixes with hang tags that bore his photo.
I know I’m not like other people, but I can have my fun. My default costume is the 1970s hippie. I wear my own clothes and bring my ukulele. Pile on the peace signs and call it a night. Going to a Halloween party is like window shopping at the airport in Milan. I can admire the pretty things and be happy with what I have.
But Halloween, for me, is the gateway to a season that’s fraught. It’s overly commercial. It’s divisive. And I’m alone. My mother and father have been dead for 25 and 35 years. If my son wants to spend holidays with friends I don’t protest because I know how hard growing up can be.
Whenever I’m struggling, I write a blog. When I post it, I hear from others who feel the same way.
So, when the sugar high wears off, please reach out if you’re feeling blue.
I’ll be here. And we can be together.
