Yesterday in the parking lot at the grocery store, my husband spotted a Zombie car, complete with a dead zombie body on the roof and fake blood on the hood. It’s almost Halloween.
As a kid, I loved Halloween. My parents allowed me to go trick or treating with a friend in the neighborhood, dressed as a pumpkin or an M&M or some other nonviolent creature, as long as we promised not to cross certain busy streets.
When I realized pillowcase capacity eclipsed those plastic pumpkin candy holders, I found Halloween night to be a race to fill the bag, a quick break to empty it at home, and a race back out again until 8pm.
Who ate those good n plentys, the milk duds, the Mary Janes? Not me. I looked out for Chocolate. I was nearsighted back then, but not visually impaired like now. The only thing holding me back was the time limit and my skyrocketing blood sugar levels. It was game on. The highlight? Braving the scary house with the long staircase and special effects, like vampires in coffins coming to life.
I stacked my candy into piles ritualistically after every trick or treat fest, a bar graph of sweets across the living room carpet. I counted my favorite candies, offering my least wanted items to my parents, hoping to stave off a snickers grab. Before bedtime, I dumped them into a big bowl.
What I didn’t account for was my parents sneaking some sugar from my bowl over the following week. Oh yeah Mom, I noticed. Again, the counting. I blamed it on my sister until she complained she was missing some candy, too.
As an adult, I hand out the candy now, regulating greedy grab attempts and complimenting costumes. I still love Halloween.
What memories of Halloween do you have? Will you be handing out candy this year?