3 hours Ago
As a kid growing up in Gary, Indiana, I used to go trick-or-treating on Halloween dressed up as a hobo, wearing my father's old clothes, a candy cigar in my mouth and an old-fashioned hat on my head. No one said boo to me about my laziness for an instant costume. It was the '70s.
Jerry Davich All Hallow’s Eve was strictly a time for my buddies and I to stay out as late as possible and beg for as much candy as possible. Period. We used old pillowcases — not store-bought plastic pumpkins — and we stopped back at home only to unload our candy before venturing out again into the darkness.
We literally ran house to house screaming “trick or treat!” and then lurching into The Lure hamburger stand across the railroad tracks for free French fries. Every year we’d track down a van of volunteers who offered warm apple cider and cold doughnuts to kids before we circled back to the same houses, only after we exchanged our costumes. The only kids I knew who didn't trick or treat were physically unable to do so.
I remember one of my friends broke his leg the week before one Halloween and he had to use crutches to get around our subdivision. He went as "Evel Knievel," motorcycle helmet and all. It.
Was. Brilliant. At the end of the night, my friends and I would swap each other for our favorite candy.
I went home with every Nestle’s crunch bar I could find, and my dad would pillage my pillowcase for his cut of our pirated booty. I was a huge fan of Charlie Hustle. Not so much for Pete Rose.
My friends and I thought we were so cool every Halloween. It was the best night of the year because we were allowed to pretend we were adults, sort of, just us at night navigating our neighborhoods. We followed our instincts and strangers’ porch lights, not our parents’ fears.
These may be misty water-colored memories of the way we were, but that’s what Halloween is all about. The candy gets eaten or trashed. The costumes get lost or handed down.
But our fond recollections live on like ghosts haunting the shadowy sidewalks of our childhood. I know I sound like an old man waxing nostalgic from a nursing home rocking chair. But seriously, what happened to our streets being flooded with kids going door to door all evening for free candy and memories? This should be a blissful fantasy for youngsters.
Yet here we are in the frightening “Era of 24/7 Paranoia” with helicopter parents injecting fear into their kids with reckless irresponsibility. “Don’t go down that street! Don’t eat that piece of candy! Don’t stay out later than 6 o’clock!” Boo to that. I blame parents and grandparents, the same former trick-or-treaters who must have forgotten the spooky joy of Halloween.
Too many of us are putting the wrong kind of fear into youngsters, insisting that a fictional bogeyman may kidnap them on this night. Good grief, Charlie Brown. Life will become a haunted house for our kids soon enough with real-life spooks, ghouls and hauntings.
It’s as inevitable as unwanted candy on Halloween night. The inner child in me still holds on to the cobwebbed excitement of this holiday. The pure fun of it all — to pretend to be someone or something else and get rewarded with tasty treats and no tricks.
So here’s my challenge to parents and kids: Let’s show some holiday spirit this Halloween, if anything for old-time’s sake. Forget buying that fancy orange plastic bucket. Instead grab an old pillowcase from the closet of your past.
Forget buying that overpriced costume. Instead make up something from home. If anything, be a hobo even though no one says "hobo" anymore.
This year, introduce your child to the ghost of a fading tradition. This year, revisit your childhood for at least one night. This year, walk your kids down a stretch of road to Halloweens past.
Put the fear of no more trick-or-treating in them. Soon enough, they’ll age out of it, just like we did. Nothing is scarier than that.
I have another challenge for anyone who hasn’t been trick-or-treating in decades. Instead of staying home and passing out candy, leave a bowl of it on your porch with a sign threatening to track down any punk who takes more than one. If it doesn’t work, who cares.
Just be thankful your bowl wasn’t stolen, like it would have been from my childhood friends. Enjoy the parade of costumed kids running past you. Enjoy the crisp air and fall colors.
Enjoy the memories that will swirl around you like dying leaves. This Halloween, my wife and I plan to hit the streets to soak up the experience at the haunted intersection of Halloween Past and Halloween Present. And we’re going to do it in costumes — she will be a shark, I’ll be a Yip Yip Martian.
If I get lazy, I can always go as a hobo. Davich writes for The Times of Northwest Indiana: Jerry.Davich@nwi.
com . Get opinion pieces, letters and editorials sent directly to your inbox weekly!.
