HALLOWEEN MONTAGE

When I think about trick or treating as a child, the memories slide through my mind like the rapid images in a montage as I age before my eyes. The film moves from my youngest age when I wore my regular clothes through to years when my costume was homemade of bits and pieces—aprons, scarves, Dad’s shirt, Mom’s skirt—to the older years when I wore a few that were store-bought. This reflects the improving finances of my family.

I was seven the first time I had a ‘real’ costume, one I was proud to tell my school friends about days before Halloween. I never wore it. That day at school I broke my arm. I remember how unhappy I was that the costume sleeve would not, could not fit over my cast. I would rather stay home than walk around in my own clothes, wearing a cast (and being in pain), explaining to any friends I met why I was not wearing the costume I had bragged about. That was the worst Halloween ever. I did not even care about the candy. I just wanted to go home and feel sorry for myself. The worst Halloween ever.

Within the blur of memory there are some treats that stand out. My mother’s friend who lived at the back of a lot and at the top of a narrow hall stairway made special treats just for the children of her friends. I went home sometimes with popcorn balls and other times with candied apples or peanut brittle. The last two I tried but never really liked. My mom loved them, so I gave them to her. She and my grandmother also shared the popcorn ball which had a flavor less strong than caramel corn. I preferred my popcorn salty, though the sweet variety was okay.

My mother always urged me to share my Halloween hoard with the family or my friends at school. I do not remember being really bothered by letting go of some bits of the treasure—the pieces I did not really like any way. What did I like (and keep)? Bubble gum was always good.

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