Of costumes and candy
Posted by Leah Hemenway on Oct 23rd, 2007
Halloween brings back so many memories. When the kids were little, there was the huge challenge of making a costume that slightly resembled their goal. The first years with Zach were easy: find a football helmet and black sweats. Then there came the first problem: the saber-toothed tiger. We kept the black sweats, but I attempted to make a special tiger hat. Saber-toothed tigers are all black, by the way.
We came to preschool in the Halloween costume.
“What a cute black horse!” one of the parents gushed.
“Are you a dog?” asked another.
The teacher knew better, “What are you supposed to be?”
By the afternoon Zach decided to go with the consensus, “I’m a black stallion, mom. But next year we need to make the costume better.”
All I could think was, “Next year maybe you’ll want to be a ghost or a pirate.”
When Zach was three we took him trick or treating in the neighborhood and he got a significant amount of candy. My husband and I were both excited.
“Look at all of those Reese Cups and Snickers!”
“And he doesn’t even like candy that much,” I added. Fortunately, Zach had not inherited my chocolate addiction. He could go days without even thinking about chocolate. It was truly amazing.
After trick or treating, Zach put his candy in various piles. We started the ritual that would last for years. I inspected the candy and threw away loose stuff or apples. Zach had various piles of Hersheys, Snickers, Reese Cups, and other candies. He seemed to enjoy looking at it all. I didn’t even need to tell him to put it away and stop eating.
The next day Zach went to school and did not notice his candy much. But the following day Zach came home from school and went straight to his candy. He looked through it all and came into the kitchen where I was cooking dinner.
“Mom, some of my candy is missing.”
“What do you mean?” I acted very innocent. Surely I could deal with a three-year-old.
“You and dad have been eating my candy. There’s two Reese Cups and two Snickers missing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I know exactly how much candy I had.”
“Sorry, Zach. I didn’t think you could count or remember the amounts.”
“Mom!!!”
Thus began many years of humiliation and begging for Halloween candy. I wanted to tell Zach that lots of kids (your mother) couldn’t sleep at night until all the good candy was eaten and that lots of kids (his dad) never went trick or treating so that the idea of all that candy sitting in his room, just sitting there was a bit hard on his limited parents.
We realized quickly that if Arna got dressed up in a costume before he could count, then we could eat his candy and take the pressure off Zach whose candy often lasted until Thanksgiving.
At least costume-wise we had learned our lesson. I’d say to Arna on Halloween, “Hey, let’s see what cool costumes are on sale …” One year we hit the jackpot: a skunk costume that was perfect. It lasted three years, and Arna thought it was great. We still have the hat part that extends down the back.
As Arna and I went through the routine of throwing away apples and loose candy, he once said, “Mom, wouldn’t it be easier just to ask the person, ‘Does this candy that you are giving me have any poison or razors in it?’”
Zach and Arna between about ages 9-12 had a clearcut goal: get as much candy as possible in the shortest time with as little walking as possible. They favored a pillowcase because it wouldn’t break. One year in Lexington (where we lived then) trick or treating was scheduled before dark. Zach wore a mask so that he wouldn’t look so old, “They give little kids more candy.”
Meanwhile, Arna had both costume and trick or treating down to an art. He’d wear a mask, sweats, and maybe a cape. This was easy for walking and running and disguised age magnificently. And he had an incredible idea: dorms. Arna and his friends could walk up and down the halls with their pillowcases and truly rake in the candy. They’d just take the elevator to the next floor. Plus students had good taste. Few trick or treaters hit the dorms so students were generous with their “good” candy. I’m sure they planned on eating the leftovers. In two hours the pillowcases were overflowing.
Arna and his friends would come back to our house and dump out their bags. They’d have giant trading sessions. Bob and I would stand back and ask for donations. We’d all come away happy. The guys would laugh and talk about the students they saw — crazy hair color, creepy tattoos, messy rooms, but always friendly students. Then one year Arna told me, “I’m too old for trick or treating ...”
I miss Halloween. I miss the anticipation, the costumes. Arna did wear some strange costumes to Halloween parties and even to school. They ranged from a soup can to a chorus girl. I miss the big day with all the plans. Arna and three or four other guys would meet at our house at 6:30 and then follow their route, wherever that was. I was the driver. Last minute changes were common. Skipping certain streets or changing routes was also common. The last few years at the dorms were fun. Arna and his friends always had stories that involved a chase or some odd characters that they met. Bob and I would listen as we passed around hot chocolate, always angling for candy donations.
Now I look at the decorations on our front porch. We always have pumpkins, bales of hay, spiderwebs spread out everywhere, and gourds. In the old days Arna’s friends from school would come trick or treating, but now nobody comes. I think about dressing up Cassie, our dog, but she hides under the bed when she hears that voice that says something new is happening. My one-year-old great-niece is my only hope. I encourage her mother to try various costumes to find the perfect one.
“Do you think dressing her up as a hot dog is degrading?” Her mother asks.
“I don’t know…a pumpkin would be cute. Or a horse or a cow. … Arna’s skunk costume is too big … Maybe we should go to Target and try on costumes.”
We could look at candy too. This year I guess I’ll just buy Bob a Reese Cup or a Snickers. I already sent Arna a bag of candy. Zach and his wife are going to a big Halloween party in Kansas City and have already planned their costumes.
Arna called from the University of Iowa, “Hey, Mom. Could you send me the Campbell soup can costume? I’ve been trying on costumes at Target and they’re no good.”
“Tell you what. I’ll bring it to you if we can go trick or treating.”
“Mom, I’m just going to a party. But if you came we could watch the KU football game. The party doesn’t start until 11.”
Halloween, I do miss it. I wonder if I can find that old Clinton mask, grab a pillowcase, and hit the dorms?
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