When I was a kid, Halloween was my favourite holiday. As soon as school started after Labour Day, I was planning what my costume would be. I fantasized about creative and complex costumes, like an ice cream cone or a kangaroo, but often wound up being a gypsy (or something that could be easily put together from the family’s closets).
When I was 30, I promised I would take my niece and nephew trick-or-treating. They were so excited. I hadn’t seen them in a long time. Halloween meant a lot to them, too, and to have Auntie Annie accompany them on the night was something we all looked forward to. As they got ready, it became clear they had pictured it all differently. My plan was to chaperone them and stand on the sidewalk as they made their way door-to-door. But no, they insisted my promise was to go trick-or-treating with them – costume and all! Their pleas were difficult to disappoint; we scrambled through closets to find silly, young girl clothes, put my hair in pigtails, painted on freckles, donned a funny nose, and off we went.
At the first door, I was reluctant and held back. My niece was bold. “Can I have candy for my friend?” she gestured back toward me, explaining. “She’s shy.” The woman willingly gave her extra treats. Well, that was easy!
The tactic worked, and as the night progressed, it became nothing for me to join these two cheeky children knocking on doors, shouting “Trick-or-Treat!”. I collected my own bag full of loot.
Trick-or-treating at age thirty. So much fun!