HALLOWEEN BLOOPERS
As a parent of three daughters, I was relieved to never have to intervene on one of the girls’ costumes. I didn’t want to be the Mom who tsk-tsked but I would have struggled with a teenaged sexy cat/sexy devil/sexy witch or the socio/politically incorrect look that could come back to haunt them later in life.[1] I speak from experience. I was never able to pull off sexy-anything and so didn’t try, but I did have some my poor costume choices. Fortunately, they never had ramifications, other than memories that make me embarrassed for my younger self.
At some point in high school, when I was young enough to be socially clueless, but old enough to be expected to know better, I elected to go to a high school Halloween party dressed as a Hare Krishna. I don't know if I was actively striving to be offensive (very possible), was influenced by a love of B movies (“Airplane!”) or was just plain idiotic (most likely). Either way, I elected to don a sheet toga and a bald cap (!?) with a hole cut in the top and my hair pulled through. I had no money, so the bald cap was probably just a white swim cap - meaning it was not only ugly, it also didn't effectively make me appear bald. My partner in crime (arguably, literally) was my friend A who put a twist on the toga/sandals base and opted to go as Jesus Christ. This decision, and the fact that I didn’t think to stop her, suggests that we were, indeed, intending to be offensive. Not to be outdone by the hideousness of my bald cap accoutrement, A sported a beard created by drawing lines all over her face with a black eyeliner. She then constructed a cross out of tin foil and slung it across her back like a roman torture version of fairy wings.
Thus attired, we took not one, not two, but three buses to get to the party. When we arrive, the party is in the basement, and so the door was answered by the host’s parents. I have blocked it out completely but let us pause here to imagine the faces of these adults (of unknown religious background) reacting to the sight of A and I, I mean “bearded” Jesus and “bald" Krishna, blue with cold beneath the sheets from my bed. Whatever you are currently imagining is not even close to the response that I DO remember when we then entered the basement to be greeted by the hostesses who were dressed respectively as Sexy Cat (of course) and a Belly Dancer (full authentic harem costume). A and I, a little late perhaps, slowly realized our costuming misstep. We spent the entire evening hiding in a storage closet wondering why we didn’t have boyfriends. Fortunately, neither of us ever went into political careers.
Halloween brings out those costume ideas that seem funny at the time but are real question marks when you look back on them. Once, a dad-friend “D” offered to take his daughter and our youngest to a Halloween event at the local petting zoo/farm when they were around age 3. When I arrive at the friend's house to drop C off, D jumps out at us wearing “scary face” mask - a combo of an Orc, the hunchback of Notre Dame and Einstein. Queue screaming three-year-old and super angry me (I hate being surprised).[2] Both reaction 1000% justified because D not only wearing Scary Face but had paired it with a lab coat and a gigantic kitchen knife - both covered in neon red fake blood. This would be a good time to reiterate that they were going to the toddler event at a FARM…to pet baby livestock. To this day, I really don't know if he truly intended to go to the farm in that costume, or if it was all a show just for me. Either way, the girls still scream every time Scary Face gets pulled out. I think they have PTSD from a suppressed memory the Bloody Butcher.
Another time, same Dad and I were on deck to accompany the Trick or Treaters. This is the first, at most the second, time that the girls had gone out trick or treating. So, they were very young, and in need of a lot of parental assistance. D has decided to be one of those parents that dress up to do the chaperoning. Which, in theory, I applaud. Except that D is dressed as a gigantic pint of Guinness. Picture a Guinness glass starting at his ankles and going up over his head with foam on top - a Gumby style cut out for his face. This is one of those costumes with significant mobility limitations. His arms are reduced to T-rex hands and, not insignificantly, totally unable to take his daughter’s hand to help her up and down slippery steps. His visibility is at most a 10 degree span straight ahead - he has to turn like a top to look around. He can’t bend (again, little kids needing assistance here…). Most significantly, the pint glass tapers down to a foot and a half wide circumference at his feet. He has to shuffle along like a Geisha, constantly tumbling off the curb, and each set of front steps is like climbing Everest.
Climbing the steps is crucial, because in our neighbourhood Halloween is a basically a pub crawl for those on Trick or Treat duty. Each house gives a 2-cent chocolate to the kids and an alcoholic drink to the parents. So here I am, helping both our daughters, and also helping D-as-Guinness-Pint-Geisha up each set of steps. The Guinness costume, of course, elicits a HUGE response at each door (once we manage to get there). As with all great drinking themed costumes, D’s efforts are rewarded with … DRINKS!! Skip ahead, I don't know…4 hours? Felt like 4 hours. We have made it to maybe a dozen houses. The girls have a “haul” of 10 snack sized chocolate bars, some regular Lays (which D eats because he has the munchies), and a bunch of dollar store fodder that we won’t let them eat. They are thinking: a) Halloween is overrated and b) Why is D acting so weird? I am thinking the same.
The other learning curve around Halloween is when to officially retire the trick or treating pillowcase. Usually somewhere in middle school it becomes a point of debate. In my case, my four friends and I tried for one last Hoorah. We went as Pacman and the four ghosts, hastily made from crudely cut Bristol Board a topped with full face paint (always a bad idea, but especially during peak acne age). Certainly, we understood that the homeowners weren’t fawning over our costumes, and I am sure there was a fair amount stink eye being directed at us over-agers. But the clincher was when a door is opened by a cute boy our age that we, just the day before, had been giggling over at the subway station ‘hang’. Mortifying.
Skip ahead a couple of dozen years and we are on the flip side of the equation. We move into our first house right before Halloween and I didn’t have the lay of the land yet. I can’t remember how many treats I bought, but I do know that I ran out of candy BEFORE 7pm. M was away so I couldn’t go get more. I had to hide inside in the dark all night while hundreds of kids continued to bang on the door of my house. It was like an actual Zombiecolypse. I was mildly terrified. We, of course, got egged.[3]
The next year, I was ready. Or at least I thought I was. I had a full tower of "fun size”. M was away again, and this time I had 6-month-old H under wing. I have rigged up everything I could possibly need within reach of the front door. Let the onslaught begin! My live-and-learn experience from the previous year was quickly put to the test. I have never seen so many kids. I would open the door and there would be dozens - like, MANY dozens - of ‘kids’ on the porch at once. Giving out candy (quickly devolving into only 1 fun size per ghoul) was like Lucille Ball working the chocolate factory conveyor belt - you couldn’t move fast enough. A single kid could have spent the entire evening stationary on my stoop, and I would never have known it (especially since it was the SCREAM mask era).
Turns out there was a famous haunted house at the end of the street that people came in busses from all over the city to go to. We had zero money at the time and the tower of fun sizes was a serious investment. My neighbour should have had Halloween grants we could apply for. Halloween would cost us hundreds of dollars, at least until the kids started to return home with enough winnings that we could regift the unwanted lollipops and Halloween chews. It not only drew crowds of kids, but also a lot of new immigrant adults. They were so joyful about the whole experience - and I didn't want to seem unwelcoming - but to open the door to a throng of middle-aged adults who understood enough to know that a pillowcase is the optimum collection vessel, but not enough to at least don a witches hat was a bit much. One explained that he was collecting for his baby who was at home. “Say what?”
We later moved and our house now is the complete opposite. The Iron Man race of our old house was replaced by sheer boredom. We often have a 30-minute lag between revellers. For a while I embraced the low turnout by being the house that gave FULL SIZE chocolate bars. This was short lived because I forgot that word spreads fast about the full-size-flex houses. T this day I could point out every (well, three) houses that did so in my hood growing up. Instead, I time my last door knock with a giant haul and a singleton trick or treater so that I can end with a “bowl dump”. I get to cap my night feeling like a rock star, knowing I was the highlight of at least one kid's night.
Now with neither trick or treaters, nor door handler kids left at home, we won’t even be “open” for Halloween this year. Making our street that much more boring. Sorry little ghosts! The Tootsie Roll baton has been handed off.
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[1] When they were really young, the girls discovered that they got extra treat helpings when they went as a set of three. "The sister effect” had an exponential impact on candy returns. My friend J and I once had the equivalent when we went as two Jokers (combo jester costume, playing card). We really raked it in that year, although we also got asked into more than one house to have our picture taken (yikes).
[2] Or splashed…or tickled…for the record…
[3] Side note: egg doesn’t come off rough brick. Ever.