Like many holidays in America, Halloween has evolved from a
religious observance
– in this case All Hallows Eve, the day that precedes All Saints
Day – into a celebration of capitalism, commercialism, and
candy-ism.
Like many holidays in America, Halloween has evolved from a religious observance – in this case All Hallows Eve, the day that precedes All Saints Day – into a celebration of capitalism, commercialism, and candy-ism.
In my spirited neighborhood, 10 large bags of candy from Costco might be enough to barely squeak us through the night, especially if we shoo away repeat visitors. For some stretches we won’t even get to close our door because there’s a line of trick-or-treaters waiting outside.
It’s not that we give out special types of candy; it’s just that our neighbors decorate so nicely that the area becomes a destination for people around the city. I gave up trying to keep up this year, choosing instead for a simple array of plastic lighted pumpkins around the yard to show that I’m no spoil-sport.
Nothing quite compares to Christmas when you’re a kid, but Halloween comes pretty darn close. Throughout the rest of the year, kids are told not to eat too much candy. It’ll ruin your teeth; it’ll ruin your dinner; it’ll give you a stomachache.
But all of that doesn’t matter on this one magical night. Parents want their kids to score some sweets – the more the better. Fill that bag. Say please and thank you. Hurry up but don’t cut across the lawn. No, that skeleton is not real.
What a night.
Word quickly spreads about which house has the good candy – usually meaning big, brand-name sweets. Word also spreads about the houses that give out toothbrushes or pennies or carrot sticks.
On Tuesday I’ll expect to see trick-or-treaters from age 1 to 18 – though both ends of that spectrum are pushing it as far as I’m concerned.
A baby in a stroller that cannot walk or talk and has no teeth should not be wheeled up to my front door with a candy tub in its lap so his or her parents can score some chocolate.
On the other hand, a teenager who is taller than me and is too cool to dress up shouldn’t be scamming for candy, either. A hooded sweatshirt is not a costume. A baseball cap is not a costume. Give it up, get a job, and buy your own candy.
I know it’s hard to let go of free candy night, but it is a night for children after all.
Once we get too old to beg for candy, we become adults who help our kids figure out a costume that’s creative, fun, and – hopefully – inexpensive. I went easy on my parents when I was young. I got some ratty, oversized clothes from my dad’s closet, tied a bandanna to the end of a stick, and I became a hobo.
That was OK in the 1970s, but I doubt that is politically correct today.
“And what are you, little boy?”
“I’m a former white-collar worker who was downsized when my job was outsourced. My stock options hadn’t vested, so I was out of luck. My adjustable-rate mortgage has gone through the roof and I can’t keep up with the lease payments on my hybrid. Look, can I just get some candy?”
I don’t know what my boys will dress up as this Halloween, but I know they want to be something “scary.”
Perhaps they can go as a campaign mailer.
Adam Breen teaches journalism and yearbook at San Benito High School. He is former editor of The Free Lance.
