Treats

"Would you give my kid some candy?"  When would you ever say that?  To a perfect stranger?  While standing on their doorstep?  I love Halloween--the costumes, the Jack o'lanterns, the visit to the pumpkin patch, the Monster Mash.  Love it!  Love it!  Love it!

Really, though, what other holiday do we have that allows us to say hi to our neighbors in such an intimate way?  When was the last time you knocked on your neighbor's door just to say hello?  When was the last time you went out of your way to buy something for someone  you DON'T EVEN KNOW?!
And yet, one day, every year, we Americans--isolated, solitary, independent though we are--rely on complete strangers for our good time. 

I distinctly remember  traipsing around in the dark with a gang of goblins, vampires, Tinkerbells, and Chewbaccas.  It was so freeing to roam without restrictions, without worry, without care.  Those were the days, you nod.  I know.  I'm nodding too.

Fourteen years ago, I experienced the other side of Halloween--the side where, every time some stranger opens their door and drops of piece of candy into your kid's bucket, you say a silent "thank you" to your Community, the Us that disappears every other day of the year.  You walk the sidewalks searching for brilliant porchlights, glowing Jack o'lanterns, crossing the street randomly to check out that house over there...it really is awesome.  Inspiring. 

I send out a compelling thank you to my city, my community, my neighbors, my circle of friends and family who all ensured that my kids had a great time.  The candy--we didn't manage to fill our bucket to the top--is secondary.  This experience is not about the stash you come home with.   (Okay, my four-year-old thinks so...)  My daughter already gets it.  That six-year-old knows that the wandering in the dark, the mystery of a mask, a moonlit night full of fellow conspirators, a little fear mixed with your fun, is the perfect antidote for our woes.

My teenager grasps this concept with two hands, and runs with it:  you and your friends become a pack, you're not ever too cool for a Halloween costume, and no, it's not about the candy.  My teenager wants to roam with her herd, howl at the moon, laugh like she's eight.  For one night, she throws off the shackles of high school, peer pressure, adolscence.  She is courageous.  She is mysterious.  She is wild.  This is the beauty of Halloween.

I'm taking down my skeletons, putting my skulls away.  The spiders get packed up with the cobwebs and the ghosts are wound up...but I'm thinking I may keep that candy bowl out.  You might be knocking on my door!