You see, when I was younger, I only liked to trick or treat for like, a minute (maybe). After that, I was ready to go back and hang with the adults at a bonfire or watch a movie. (Not a scary one, obviously). I wasn’t interested in the candy. I wasn’t interested in dressing up. And I especially wasn’t interested in being scared. Every year, I went back and forth from dressing up as a witch or a “pajama girl.” I’m sorry, what even is a “pajama girl?” Sounds like a good gig if you ask me.
Even though I am not so much a fan, there are a few fun memories that come to mind about this said holiday.
A batmobile.
Yes, you read that correctly. My lunatic dad and our friend would drive our golf cart home from the golf course to deck it out for our evening in the neighborhood. Now when I say “drive,” I do not mean bring it home via trailer or some other logical way; I mean a golf cart poking along down a 50 mph road. Of course, this would not happen the night before Halloween because who wouldn’t want as much time with this vehicle as possible... right? There were wooden wings for the top and too many other Halloween decorations to count. Looking back, it was probably (definitely) a disguise for the parents to drive around while we walked everywhere, and it might have even had a cooler, but you didn’t hear it from me. All my friends were jealous, so I was like yep those are my people. Hopefully, my kids will think I’m as stylish as I thought (and think) they are.
Sorting my candy.
Why my mom was not like “what the heck is wrong with my child, why is she sorting her candy like it’s her job...she is 5. FIVE???!!” Yeah I also have no idea. I would get cookie sheets and empty my pillow case to sit there the rest of the night and put the Reese’s with the Reese's, the Hershey’s with the Hershey’s, and so on. After I got them all in their piles, I would categorize them from my favorites to my least favorites. Lastly, I would open bags of Skittles or M&Ms and sort them by color. Concerning? Totally. No one told me the candy was for eating…
November first. All Saints Day.
The day every Catholic grade schooler should be in mass, but was hungover on candy and celebrating #NoSchool with a Halloween sleepover. What do you mean we are not off school the day after Halloween in college? (I didn’t realize how great that was at the time).
Our Halloween fire.
The bonfire on Halloween is different than others. We used to project “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” on the garage and sit around the fire to pass out candy, which actually means hand select other people’s candy, so you could keep the purple Laffy Taffy for yourself. Funny how at the end of the night, all the good candy was still there.
Carving Pumpkins.
Now let me preface this: My father, whose nickname is “Overprotective DPy,” made my brother and I ice skate with helmets on until ninth grade. The idea of a knife in our hands was unheard of. Absurd, actually. So, by carving, I mean drawing what we wanted carved with a sharpie (we attained permanent marker privileges in fifth grade) on our pumpkin and watching him do it. If he got really crazy, he would let us hold the end of the knife with him – What a thrill!!
Evidently Halloween doesn’t get me as excited as the rest of America, but I certainly can’t complain about my Halloween memories. If you need me on Halloween, I’ll be sitting over here trying to decide if I should be a witch or a “pajama girl,” while other people are getting their alter egos together for the big night. Oh, and the best part about Halloween? Thanksgiving is next!!
