Halloween

I have never, once trick-or-treated. Sad, but true.

My mom, the born again who speaks in tongues Catholic, thought Halloween was Satan's holiday. For years, she would keep us out of school so that we could not partake in any Halloween parties. She kept me out of the advanced reading group in second grade because on the reading list was "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" and she didn't want me to read anything with a witch in it. On Halloween night, we'd lock ourselves in our house, turn out all the lights as a signal to the candy-hunters that we were not giving out the goods, and hide in the back rooms and watch TV. If she were feeling generous that year, my mom would get us some candy of our own, but that didn't always happen. She was a pretty big health food freak, too.


Needless to say, when I went to school the next day all the kids would be like, "Why was your house all dark?" "What's wrong with you?" "Your family sucks!" Blah, blah, blah. And I would have to decide if I wanted to reveal that my mom was a religious zealot or lie and say that I had a terrible stomach virus for 24 hours. Usually the latter won out. Yes, I have years of psychological scarring from this.

In college and my 20's I loved to whore it up for Halloween as an excuse to make out with boys; it was a very successful mission and worked most years. But, of course, those years are long gone.

But now I have kids and I can embark on a new and previously uncharted part of Hallowen: I can trick-or-treat! And now that Alexandra can walk and talk this is year one. Last year we managed to score some loot as I drove her around in our stroller dressed as a chicken and Adam and I as wolves in sheep's clothing. She had her first Blow Pop and her first Kit Kat, and it's been a downward candy spiral since then. But this year we are doing it--door to door, pounding the pavement trick-or-treating.

And I am more excited than she is.