By Mitch Holt, Opinion Editor
Don’t Believe the Hype
Halloween, in spite of seemingly evil origins, always seemed to draw me back in year after year-but not in the same way it did my friends.
I always wanted to wear a scary costume, but Mom and Dad wouldn’t allow it.
Every October, my family ventured into Party City, costume store and supplier for hundreds of children in our small Connecticut town. I deeply desired a black cape and vampire teeth or a red cape and a pitchfork, only to realize we were there to buy plenty-pack bags of Smarties or Three Musketeers candy to hand out on the big night. Our costumes were never bought in a store.
Year after year, I was a pirate or a clown or a friendly ghost-I just didn’t understand why I couldn’t embody an evil deity like the rest of my friends. My parents mystified me.
Instead, my costumes were always hand-made. From painted-on mustaches and eye patches to white sheets with cut-out holes for eyes, my costumes always lacked that Halloween-esque feel oh-so-important to the holiday.
In spite of the absence of real, factory-made costumes, my brother and I never forgot the experiences we had during Halloween each year.
One night a year, we were allowed to run around the neighborhood with friends, eating candy and staying up past our bedtime. Halloween is every normal youth’s heaven on earth.
And the fact that we were experiencing Halloween about two hours from Salem, Mass., where the witch trials happened made the holiday much more exciting.
These fall evenings, year after year, contained smells of wet foliage, pungent leaves and hickory log fires, tastes of apple cider and magnificent candy and doorstep encounters with dozens of different kinds of people-young, old and ancient.
Upon our return to 32 Marshall St. with our sweet loot, my parents inspected our candy for poison, allowed us a few pieces of our choice and a glass of milk and let us run around the house until we collapsed. These nights were marvelous.
Halloween, or any holiday for that matter, isn’t about being scary or egging houses or getting more candy than any other kid on the block, it’s about storing images, smells, tastes and memories in your mind for later account on the opinion page of the Optimist.
Just kidding.
These Halloweens, now vivid yet distant memories, instilled in me glimpses of what it truly means to be a kid-ones I didn’t realize until recently. These realizations will help retain a youthfulness as I grow older.
So, this year, I think I’ll be a pirate.
