A Lot of Halloween

 

I saw a commentary the other day about Halloween.  “How in the world,” the narrator asked, “can we mess up Halloween?  It’s simple – put a sheet over your kid, give him a dollar store bag and he goes around saying trick or treat, gets candy and says thank you.”  But every year, people try to make it more complicated.  Inevitably, there will be a few people who ask, “What night is Halloween?”  Or, “When do we trick or treat this year?”  I don’t know about other places, but here where I live, Halloween is October 31 and we trick or treat on that night.  We preface that night with a spectacular Halloween parade, held the Saturday night before Halloween, giving two opportunities for dressing up in costume and gathering boxes, bags or pockets full of candy.  A few years back, someone talked the mayor into declaring that trick or treat would be on the Saturday night before Halloween because the day was on Sunday.  Mass confusion ensued and he vowed to never do that again.  I don’t remember people worrying so much in my childhood about staying out past bedtime – maybe we were tougher kids back in those days. 

This year, both events were tremendous.  The weather was Halloween perfect, the parade entries were amazing and children of all ages outdid themselves on their costumes, filling the streets of Centerville with joyful shouts of “Trick or Treat” for several hours.   A crescent moon hovered above, slipping in and out of the clouds and smiling down on the celebrants.  The volunteer fire department recycled their parade entry by setting up a display that featured a giant spider and towering ghost, and the sheriff’s department and other emergency services served up free hot dogs and handed out countless pounds of candy from the trunks of their cruisers and the back of an ambulance.  

We don’t have trick or treaters where I live, out in the country.  So, I joined friends in town on their front porch to watch the fun.  In theory, I was “helping” hand out candy, but I pretty much just visited and enjoyed the spectacle.  And it was a spectacle, no mistake.  As I walked down the street for a ways, shooting some pictures, I was reminded of those Hallmark movies.  Halloween season in Centerville is proof that those places do exist in the real world.  Dads and grandads pulling toddlers in wagons, moms pushing tiny, costumed humans in strollers, big brothers or sisters holding hands of younger siblings and coaching them in the timeless language of Halloween.  Shy children whispering “trick or treat” and “thank you,” enthusiastic youngsters running up to the door shouting the ageless entreaty and racing to the next stop on the tour, older kids mumbling their request, not quite sure if they are too old to be wearing a costume and begging for candy.  Too young to realize the memories they are making, or the importance of the tradition they carry on.  Too innocent to know their role in making a community. 

And maybe the key to improving the world does not lie in the halls of government, but in communities just like this, where families turn off their televisions for an evening and go out and share good times.  Maybe the local bank official is easier to approach if you met him on the street dressed like the scarecrow for Wizard of Oz.  Maybe the local policeman is less intimidating when he has contributed to an empty candy bucket and served you a hot dog.    Maybe, on a busy moonlit street, filled with joyful children, we can realize that we have a lot more in common than we know and that our differences may not be as wide as we think.  There is a song that says, “we need a little Christmas.”  Maybe we need a little Halloween too.  Or, in the case of my little town, “we need a lot of Halloween.”