Halloween traditions, broken dreams
I remember Halloween from my childhood, as a time to get awkwardly excited about my costume, the candy, the kids, and my big brother letting me tag along with his friends and him. I always lagged behind a bit, not because they wouldn’t let me hang out with them, but because I was that much shorter, and simply couldn’t cover the same distance in the same time. Why awkward? Because I was never really comfortable with make-believe.
I also remember tripping over the too-long or too-heavy costumes, crying, yelling for him to come get me, having him pick me up and dust me off, then smearing my costume makeup while wiping away the tears, just in time to get to the next door. Candy was more important to me than whether I’d messed up my makeup, or had blood dripping from a skinned knee.
Nat and Owen were great trick-or-treaters, bringing home more candy than I recalled from my own youthful foraging…and they always shared their treasures with me. Nat did the same for Owen, as my brother did for me. He let Owen tag along, but was usually a few feet ahead with his friends. We often had a bunch of kids with us, both Nat’s and Owen’s friends, and we tagged along on the evening’s stroll through our neighborhoods. By the time our kids came along, parents rarely sent their young children out on Halloween without chaperones. Times had changed, and this night had become a time for the whole family to get out and celebrate the tradition together. I’m glad, actually.
Not glad that it no longer felt safe for our kids to go out alone like when I was a kid, but glad I have these memories. I wish I could remember all the costumes. I should, because it was such a big deal, each and every year. Nat can probably recall most of them, and I’ll have to ask him. I can only guess that Owen would have, but I can’t ask him.
When the boys got older, there were a few years when they stayed home and helped hand out the candy. Some horror flick was usually playing on the TV, but they would jump up to answer the door when the bell rang and the tiny voices shyly cried out, “Trick or Treat”. The boys couldn’t stand the thought of only giving one piece of candy to each kid, so I always bought tons of it, and was happy if there were leftovers. I think they got as much of a kick out of seeing the little kids come to the door in costume, as I did. But, those years made me a little sad.
Watching your kids grow up is part letting them go, part hanging on. Every day, a little bit of them dies, as clothes become too short, too tight; as new experiences replace old habits. Some habits remain for a lifetime. Some dissolve with each tick of the second hand on the kitchen clock. Broken dreams.
I remember someone telling me long ago, “Our kids don’t really belong to us, they’re simply on loan.” This was hard for me to hear, and harder for me to accept. While I understood it intellectually, I didn’t get it - in practice. This idea haunts me now, for it is true, yet still unacceptable in so many ways - unacceptable in my “mother’s heart” which is one that wants to keep them safe, make that promise again and again that I’ll “always be there, no matter what happens.” I’m still here. Nat is still here. And, Owen is here in all of our hearts. In the end, I couldn’t keep him safe. Something else took over, and it is unacceptable.
Halloween is less than a week away. Every time I see decorations, pumpkins, and kids around age 20, I hurt. I want to think of the innocence of dress-up and make-believe. I want to remember how happy Halloween made my kids. I want to remember all the costumes they wore. I want to find a way to relive the memories.
What we get to do this year, is find a new way to celebrate the day. Ignoring it would be a denial of who our kids were, and who they became.
I don’t ever want to deny a moment of their lives, nor mine with them. It all happened…and it will never be the same. A part of each of us dies every day, new experiences replacing old habits. Some habits are destined to stay with us, even if they are to become bad habits.
Maybe this Halloween will be a new beginning for an old tradition, with all new people - the people we have become. I’m looking forward to seeing Ruby in her costume, and watching Nat and Anna guide her toward the next house, the next door opening to see her excited face speak the familiar words, “Trick or Treat!”
If the night turns out differently than I imagine, perhaps I’ll turn to make-believe, while watching the second hand on the clock. Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll spend my evening reliving my memories, and jumping up to answer the door when the bell rings, and hand out as much candy as the little ghosts, goblins, and vampires can grab.
Song for the night: Boulevard of Broken Dreams, (original by Greenday), this version performed by Gregorian
http://youtube.com/watch?v=tqxCJJiUvZg
emmitt-owen-riley
linda-siniard
“The Boulevard of Broken Dreams”-a sad road it is. Sooner or later most of us walk this road. I find that growing older has sent me down its path several times lately. You suddenly realize that you have already lived longer than you will in the days to come. You had so many dreams, and plenty of time to make them all come true. But suddenly you see the road’s end in the distance, and you weep to understand that it doesn’t go on forever, and your energy is waning. And you begin to lose those who have journeyed at least part of the way with you. Maybe the ones who never have to know that reality (of the end of the road) are more fortunate. And yet, it isn’t fair that all their potential is taken by the hand of another…or sometimes themselves.
Walking alone is a reality for all of us. There are not enough people in the whole wide world to keep us company at times. Ultimately, we all walk alone in some respects. And we’re always searching for someone to come along and just understand one small part of what makes us…well, us. Remember that old hymn, “You’ve Got To Walk This Lonesome Valley, You’ve Got to Walk It By Yourself.” So many things in life require that we walk alone. But there is such joy in knowing that somewhere along the way, there were others to walk beside us…if only for a little while. It makes the journey so much easier. Lonnie
When I was a kid, Halloween was my favorite holiday. I always loved the theatricality of it, and candy didn’t hurt, either. My family had an atrium entrance to our home in So. Calif. and we made a killer haunted house two years. Then my parents announced they were divorcing, and though we had not yet moved away to my grandparents’ house in No. Calif., there was to be no haunted house that year. We had many people come by expecting it, though, and it was gone. That year I tagged along with my sister — we went trick-or-treating alone, as kids could do back in the early 70s. But I had learned to fear, and when a nice lady who always invited the kids into her house for carmel apples and popcorn opened her door, I refused to go inside. My sister was livid. I had ruined Halloween. For me, it was already ruined.
Jump ahead 25 years and I rediscovered the fun of the holiday with my boy, dressing the nearly one-year old like a pirate. Our son enjoys choosing unusual costumes, and we have spent a lot of time helping him make homemade outfits. The uber-dragonfly of death was a hit (toxic waste had made the dragonfly grow to huge proportions — eeghads). One year he was a caveman, complete with a mammoth leg bone over his shoulder made of tennis ball cans taped together with masking tape. He and I have a routine. Daddy stays home to shell out candy to the three kids who come to our out-of-the-way door, and my son and I head to a “better” neighborhood, swinging by Bob and Marrianna’s house at some point for our once a year visit with them, to have his picture taken and constume admired, and enjoy a few cookies and hot cocoa. We always end the evening at the funeral parlor, where they give out plastc spiders, popcorn, and apples.
I really can’t imagine what it will be like when my son no longer wants to go trick-or-treating. Yet surely this happens soon? He is turning 10 in less than two weeks. I get a littel lump in my throat about the whole double-digit thing. Yes, Linda, time is passing so quickly. My son is thrilled to turn double-digits, but I know, unlike him, that he will never pass this way again. Nor will I.
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