I don’t think there’s a holiday celebrated that divides folks more than Halloween. On the one hand you have fanatics (and I use the word lovingly) such as my youngest sister who spends days leading up to the big spook fest decorating her house. Over the years she’s managed to collect enough tiny haunted houses, grim castles and gory goblins to circle her living room – twice. One year she even made a pilgrimage to Salem, Oregon. Unfortunately the trip didn’t turn out quite as she imagined. The New England clam chowder she had to have to complete the experience left her with food poisoning. She ended up having to vacate a tour bus in the middle of nowhere to make use of the scarce bushes provided. Poor woman got the fright of her life in a strange place with night fast approaching and no clue as to when or if another bus would be by. But being of tough stock it didn’t dampen her Halloween ardour one iota.
On the other hand, you have people like my former Vancouver co-worker who detest Halloween and all it stands for. Every year she would either take a day off to avoid the revellers in our office or, if that option wasn’t available, she would spend the day scowling and growling. Of course, the other women in the office (most of whom thought it was a come-as-you-are party and dressed as witches) delighted in torturing their poor compatriot. It was hard to tell who had the most fun – the Halloween hater who got to gripe all day or the costumed folk who got to torment her.
My own mother was firmly in the first camp. She wasn’t great at providing costumes for us kids. In fact, I think I inherited her lack of arts and crafts skill in a big way. Most years we ended up going out with a pathetic plastic mask that always slipped out of place so we couldn’t see anything. The darn things also had a propensity to freeze so that you had icy tears running down your face in slow motion. We never much bothered with costumes. It’s hard to look like a princess when you have to wear snow pants that made you look the Michelin Man. It was either wear the pants or stay home. Not an option on free candy night.
But Mom got into the spirit in her own unique way. She would hide behind the door in her own non-frozen mask and, when some unsuspecting child would knock on the door, she would jump out and yell “boo” at the top of her lungs. More than one kid went home with fuller pants than treat bags after visiting our house.
You may wonder just where I fit on the Halloween spectrum. After all these years, my joy in the celebrating of things that go bump in the night has dissipated. After 22 years of waiting for more than three kids to show up at my door, I’m happy to sit at home and feast on the five bags of Mars bars I’ve bought in case a miracle happens. And thanks to the no-show Halloweeners, I now look like the Michelin Man without the snow pants.
Happy Halloween, folks!
