Have you noticed a change recently? That bit of a nip in the
air, the smoky afternoons, and the sun-washed fields of pumpkins at
the south end of town proclaim that Halloween, harbinger of the
holidays, is fast upon us.
Have you noticed a change recently? That bit of a nip in the air, the smoky afternoons, and the sun-washed fields of pumpkins at the south end of town proclaim that Halloween, harbinger of the holidays, is fast upon us.
HALLOWEEN: the infamous day of costumes, school parades and the granddaddy of youthful unleashed anticipation – trick or treating. Energy levels ramp up to fever pitch as kids and parents prowl the racks for the latest and greatest in Halloween costume attire.
When I was a trick-or-treater and dinosaurs roamed the earth, costumes were simple. You had your basic “Prettiest,” “Funniest,” and “Scariest” categories within the realm of acceptable Halloween apparel. “Scary” was a baggy black body suit of cheap cloth tied in back with a white skeleton painted on the front. The essential skull mask obliterated the identity of the rowdy boy behind the facade. The tamer guys showed up as cowboys or hobos with damp coffee grounds plastered across their jaws. In 1950s Middle America, moms got creative with what was on hand in the kitchen or in the closet.
We girls competed shamelessly for the “Pretty” prize. We were queens and fairies, gypsies and princesses, and we drove our mothers wild pawing through their “good” jewelry, hoping to find a sparkly necklace or dangly earrings. But a glittery tiara was (literally) the crowning jewel of our pulled-together creations. This treasure was worn with the firm knowledge that we would be grounded for life should we lose one precious rhinestone from its twinkling circumference.
Today’s costumes have become cultural trademarks of our era. Like it or not, world events and gory movies have boosted the “ick-factor” (a highly technical term) of school playground parades come October 31st. Freddy Kruegar and Richard Nixon strut their stuff alongside Darth Vader, Spiderman and Napoleon Dynamite. Homer Simpson and “The Governator” rub elbows with Hillary Rodham Clinton (who looks suspiciously like Laura Bush with pearls and a too-smooth hairdo). Condoleezza Rice appears among pelicans and presidents. Undoubtedly, Harry Potter clones will be all the rage at schools this year.
This Halloween, when we open our front doors to these young marauders, we may gaze downward upon the likeness of George Bush crowded between a pint-sized cheerleader and a gore-riddled corpse trailing “blood soaked” bandages. As ghosts and goblins creep out of the night to shout, “Trick or Treat!” the formidable Ninja Turtle casts a fleeting glance at the candy we toss into his waiting container, anticipating the hour when the night’s rich bounty is revealed. Calling out his thanks, he edges anxiously back toward the Mother ship waiting at the curb.
Although the cast of characters we receive at our doorsteps may change over time, it is the omnipresent Halloween receptacle of goodies that is the mainstay, the common denominator of trick or treaters, whether toddlers or teens. Costumes are crucial, fussed over and the primary focus for days, but the repository of Halloween candy is the final sacred vessel. Whether it takes the form of a cute plastic pumpkin, an old pillow case or a crumpled paper bag, this is the essence of Halloween glee, transporter of a breathtaking bounty to be poured out later upon the floor, table or bed and gloriously, shamelessly reveled in – at least until Mom or Dad has engaged in the annual search and destroy mission to remove any suspicious or unsavory offerings.
Therein at last lies the loot – free to be counted, categorized, consumed and sometimes, albeit just a tiny bit grudgingly, shared with the dog, little sisters, or other extraordinarily special friends.
Gale Hammond is a 22-year Morgan Hill resident. Reach her at
Ga*********@ao*.com
.
