I grew up in New Jersey in the 1950s. Halloween costumes that you could buy at the five and ten were pretty basic, like a spooky skeleton or a scary witch. But not all families had the money to buy ready-made costumes. The white bedsheet or tablecloth with holes cut out for eyes saved the day.
🍭 We carried brown paper grocery bags to collect our goodies. Our parents sent us out with instructions not to get into a car if offered candy by someone we didn’t know. One year, an ominous warning spread around the neighborhood, “There is a man, in a car . . . run away fast!”
🎃 After our hard work traipsing up and down the block in a motley troupe, it was the most exciting moment to return home and pour the contents onto the kitchen table. Mom confiscated the apples for potential razor blades but no one wanted fruit for Halloween anyway. Some neighbors threw pennies into our bags. My little brother and I eagerly counted up our stashes, hoping to reach a high number like twenty-five or thirty cents.
🧑🏻🚒 When I was seven, my school had a Halloween parade. My mom dressed me in my red flannel footed pajamas, gave me the galvanized bucket she used to clean the kitchen floor, and handed me our green rubber garden hose. I dragged it along uncoiled in the playground parade, as it didn’t fit in the pail. I felt exposed: I didn’t feel right walking outside in my pajamas. I tried to look straight ahead and avoid eye contact with any onlookers. I still recall the embarrassment of that day.
👑 I tend to give a positive spin to most everything. This memory tells me my mom was creative and resourceful. But I envied the other girls, looking pretty and surely feeling pretty too, with their girly names, like Patricia dressed as a fairy with a magic wand, Carol wearing a princess tiara.
Then there was me—Barrie the Firefighter. At seven, ready to save the world. I should’ve won a prize, don’t you think?
This photo is from the next year, when I (second in from the right) had shot up in size and dressed as a mysterious witch. But my little brother Stu on the right is dressed as himself. At least he was spared the bunny rabbit suit that Howie’s mom made him wear. (second from left).
This year with Covid-19, the tradition of groups of children going door-to-door needs to be placed on hold. My own town is having a a lit-pumpkin contest and a children’s parade where the witches and ghosts, skeletons and Batman, Annas and Elsas from Frozen, will gather excitedly, experiencing the Halloween memories that build a childhood.
I’ve always kept rolls of quarters on the hall table, hoping to give out a dollar to the trick or treaters braving the chilly autumn night. But my house is side-oriented and the doorway is not visible from the street, not a welcoming configuration. In the eighteen years I’ve lived in Wenham, no one has knocked on the door. And this year, abiding by a no-contact lifestyle, it’s just as well.
Missing Halloween is a big deal in the life of a ten year old. Kids and young people through college age are missing out on building important foundations in their lives as basic as attending school, forming relationships with teachers, making friends, playing on swings and slides or sports teams, experiencing milestone events and family holidays, even visiting grandparents. For me, this last deprivation stings most of all.
There are adaptations that help—in my years as a young parent, I advocated a hot breakfast and a bedtime story as the non-negotiable cornerstones of the day. No matter what happened, my children could depend on the same beginning and end—and that made it all good. They remember the French Toast with real maple syrup even on a school day all the way to Never Tease a Weasel and Giant John before I tucked them in.
I’m writing this at a challenging time, with the pandemic unleashing its full fury, and enduring the edgy and unsettling (for me) week before the presidential election. There’s no way to do anything—or write anything—without taking it all into account.
I’ll see you on the other side . . . .
Pandemic Still Life:
new normal playground –
seesaws, swings, and sandboxes
wrapped in police tape
I go in and out of “moments” of feeling low, and no viable reason for it except self-pity. I’m fortunate to live the life I want for myself at this moment in time. But I now understand that I’m an empath. I should have figured that out from my books. So I feel the collective challenges in the world and fight not to internalize every day. Maybe releasing it like at this moment and sharing memories such as Hallowe’en’s past allows us to know that one day some form of normal will return. We have to have hope that out of everything going on around the world, a better human awareness or kindness will come out of this. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts. You brighten my day.
What a nostalgic lovely story about your childhood Halloweens. Growing up in a rural area I did not have that experience. I remember a Halloween parade in elementary school when I won first prize for my witch costume, thanks to my mom’s sewing skills & the most hideous mask ever produced, warts & all! But the most memorable experience was as a college freshman. I lived in an old mansion converted into a dormitory, on the top floor (former ballroom) with 9 roommates! Several of us decided to outfit ourselves in makeshift costumes & go trick or treating on our street which had several real mansions. After we rang the bell on one, we were invited inside to tour the first floor of an old NY home by a lovely homeowner. What a wonderful experience that was as I never had seen anything like that elegant old home.
This is such a wonderful story! It evokes great memories for me, growing up in a large family in the Upper Midwest. We had two huge boxes in the back of a closet that would be taken out each Halloween. My brothers and sisters and I, along with friends, would have a ball going through the boxes, creating costumes from the array of clothes, masks, and other accessories – boas, shawls, and fun hats – coming up with our own original ensembles and helping the little kids with theirs. On Halloween night our mom would check over our candy and let each of us choose a couple of favorites from our brown paper grocery bags (on which the weather sometimes took a toll!), then we’d pile all of our sweet treasures onto the dining rooom table and sort it out to be shared with one another for weeks afterward. Things have changed a lot, but I’m so grateful for the fun we had. Thank you for sparking these treasured memories!
Dear Barrie, You have written another lovely story that entertains and brings to me my own nostalgic Halloween at age 7, when my mother, a clever seamstress, followed a pattern from Woman’s Day magazine. It was Chiquita Banana, complete with bright yellow peel that unsnapped to reveal my tan hood and sweater. At 7 it was too sophisticated for me, but I know my mother enjoyed the challenge. And I felt the importance of taking her creation to my Brownie troop Halloween party where I did NOT win a prize😩
Hi ms barrie wow you and your audience is up late at night! Im probably snoring while you were taking a trip down Halloween memory lane:) i miss the old (70’s) trick or treatings. We would start at the top floor and work our way down, bags and bags of candy we couldnt eat it all by christmas, everyone seemed to be more generous then:) much love to you
Rosa, that is so cool, about how you went through each floor in the building, an experience I didn’t have growing up in the suburbs. Hope you have a happy holiday!
Really enjoyed your different Halloween stories, especially the one with the hose! My most vivid memory from Halloween when I was a child was when my mother made me go trick or treating after school because it was still light out and therefore safer. No one was prepared with their candy so early, and I was forced to wait outside while they hastily got some candy together. Humiliating! But, like your mom. I guess my mom meant well.