I've never been the biggest fan of Halloween. Sure, I liked getting candy, but I was never a true Halloween enthusiast, even as a kid. I think for four years running I was a pirate. Same costume, just a little shorter in the legs and arms each year. And I think I liked being a pirate because then I could talk like a pirate the whole time I was trick or treating — and let's be honest, anytime you can yell 'To the plank with you wenches!' and wave a sword at friends without getting in trouble with an adult is a good thing.
I grew up on a dead-end street with a great bunch of kids all around the same age, so it was awesome. We'd traipse around the neighbourhood with our pillowcases as bags, running as fast as we could from house to house. Back then, no one seemed to worry about kids being out on their own. Innocent and simpler times for sure.
Once we returned home, my siblings and I would pour our haul on our section of the rec room carpet. Then the sorting would begin. Chocolate bars in one pile, chips in another, rockets and sour sucks in another. There was always a pile for our 'shit candy' — dedicated to the packages of black licorice, crappy gum, and anything else our unappreciative asses deemed unworthy of eating. This was the pile we offered to the non-trick-or-treating members of the family. I know, we were quite generous kids.
As my brothers, and then my sister, aged out of the tradition, a new tradition was born — jump on the piles of your baby sister's candy and try to steal as much as you could. I hated this tradition. I have three older brothers and one older sister, and there was no way in hell I was going to win. So, in order to even the odds, I'd lose my shit and scream for my parents. Worked every time.
"LEAVE YOUR LITTLE SISTER ALONE!"
"STAY OUT OF HER CANDY!"
"BOYS!"
It usually took a few bellows from my mom for the scavengers to back off, but eventually they did. My dad would come down and pretend to be an authoritarian dictator, all the while his eyes would be firmly on my chocolate bars and chips. Being the youngest was a bitch. Nothing was sacred, especially my Reese Peanut Butter Cups.
I remember one particular Halloween I'd spent hours working on the pumpkin and it was a masterpiece. I was so proud and couldn't wait until it got dark so I could light the candle and see her in all her glory.
I went out trick or treating with my dad, came home, and started helping my mom hand out candy. Then my mom saw the police car pull into the driveway.
"Tricia, go get your father please."
By the time I'd gotten my dad, the police officer was standing in the front reception area with one of my brothers — who I shall not name to preserve his current reputable standing in the community. The officer was speaking to my mom, and my brother stood there with his chin on his chest, not saying a word.
"We're going to have to take the pumpkin, Mrs. Faber."
"I understand, Officer."
TAKE THE PUMPKIN? MY PUMPKIN? WHAT BLASPHEMY WAS THIS?
I couldn't take it any longer and burst through the dining room door.
"YOU CAN'T TAKE MY PUMPKIN!"
Tears exploded from my face and a once fearless pirate was a sobbing, uncontrollable mess. The Jack o' Lantern hadn't done a darn thing wrong and yet she was being sent away, to a new home, to a new family. They didn't know her like I knew her. I gave her life. She poured out her insides for me. We had a bond, and now she was gone.
What did my brother do? Him and his dumb-ass teenage rebellious, vigilante, up-to-no-good friends decided it would be fun to run around the neighbourhood and smash people's pumpkins. And of course, my brother was the only one who got caught by the police. Dumb-ass.
The other family had young children and were understandably upset at having their pumpkin destroyed, so to make it right, we had to forfeit ours. One family happy, one little sister devastated. Even in the writing of this story, I've had to go pour myself a glass of wine to help me deal with the pain and the stress of the memory of that fateful Halloween, 1976.
I live in a different city now. I haven't carved a pumpkin in years. The joy is gone, I'm afraid. I'm now that house that shuts all the curtains and turns out all the lights.
So, what did I do last night on Halloween? Absolutely nothing, and it was glorious. Okay, maybe that's not entirely true. I may have thrown on my old pirate costume for another go. Just for old times' sake. It didn't fit and I split the ass in two.
Halloween just isn't my gig, I guess. How many days until Christmas?