Hallowe-en - Oct 23 2021

 

Hallowe'en

Oct 23 2021

On a brisk October evening

the little girls 

giggle effervescently,

racing up the walkway

and thrusting out their bags.

Dressed as sparkly pink princesses

and cute-as-button animals

they look like small nimble plush toys

come to life.

I drive carefully past,

trying to recall the magic

of my once and only childhood.

The anticipation

that went on for weeks.

The terrifying costume

my exhausted mother 

would surely make.

The amazement

that on this day

the rules don't apply,

and that just for the asking

forbidden candy

would be handed-out free.

Parents tarry on the sidewalk

giving their kids some space,

hands jammed in pockets

jackets zipped tight.

Where they chat casually.

Watch cautiously

out of the corners of their eyes.

And try to look nonchalant

in front of a stranger's house,

as precious children

in a bright-eyed breathless rush

explain their clever costumes

enthuse about their haul.

I was always a ghost 

because nothing could be simpler;

a sacrificial sheet

with a hole for my head,

and a ski mask

too hot and itchy to wear for long.

Trick-or-treating with my older brother

after dark

on our own.

The neighbours are enthusiasts

and have built a graveyard on their lawn.

Come Christmas, their lights will be blinding,

and don't get me started

on birthday parties

pumpkin carving

Arbor Day.

They believe in occasions

celebrate wholeheartedly.

Meanwhile, my house is dark

the door firmly locked.

And I keep driving on,

vigilant for children

crossing the road;

imagining the costume

I would have wanted,

the candy

I refused to share.

How it was. Free-range kids, without much supervision: before the paranoia about “stranger danger”, abduction, and random violence. Relatively uninvolved parents, instead of hands-on and micro-managing. And how we were not indulged, so candy was not only to be hoarded, but also carefully rationed out. So memories are mixed: a bittersweet combination of minor resentment and the usual nostalgia. But what I can't recapture is the magic, and that makes me feel old.

I'm not much for occasions or display. But I'm impressed by the neighbourliness and public spirit of those who are. I suppose at times it can be competitive, an act of civic one-upmanship. But mostly, I think it's a fine creative outlet, as well as a sincere effort to share their enthusiasm and energy.

As you can see from the spelling, I stole Arbor Day from the Americans. Following the irresistible symmetry of the rule of 3s, I needed something else to celebrate, and Arbor Day was perfect: not only the sound, but a minor holiday only incidentally observed. And I can just picture a ceremonial tree-planting, as well as a front lawn filled with a virtual forest.