It's Halloween, Give Me Some Candy!

It's Halloween, I Want Candy!

When I was a kid of two-and-a-half years old, my parents, my one-year-old sister, and I moved to Illinois. My New York born, city boy Father had gotten his teaching certificate from Kansas State Teachers College. Six-foot-four, black rimmed glasses, and thin as a rail, he had landed his first job teaching English at a small Military School for children ages five to thirteen. He was given the rank of lieutenant.

My Mom was a real red-headed, five-foot-four freckle-faced Kansas farm girl; smart and spunky. How my Mom and Dad met is a mystery to me. I bring this up so I can tell you that she knew how to ride horses very well. She eventually became secretary to the Colonel, the owner of the school, and taught Latin.

The Academy was set on eighteen acres of land with the buildings on the south and the west sides of the property and the rest was a large open manicured field with several large, well-placed trees that rose to a hill on the west topped with two sprawling, widely spaced willow trees. For the first few years I did not go trick-or-treating; none of the cadets did. Instead we would have a wiener roast out in the middle of the field. Everybody would have a grand old time.

The culmination of the festivities was s'mores and a ghost story told by my Father. It was "The Tale of The Headless Horseman." Other teachers at the school would hide behind nearby trees making scary moans and other sounds. At a poignant time, a fire would start between the two willow trees on top of the nearby hill. The story would continue. Then, at the end, my Father would say something like, "And the headless horseman still rides searching for his head!" And at just that moment my Mother, starting by the fire on the hilltop, would come riding down on a big black horse, galloping at a reckless pace, wearing a cape cinched around her forehead, pounding and swooping by, flying off, cape flapping, disappearing into the night. Everyone would gasp and scream. It was spectacular.

I attended the Academy for the first few years. All the youngest children were taught by one woman, Mrs. Melain, through grade 3. In grade 4 through 8, the children moved between classes like most kids do in high school. This meant that I would have my Father and Mother as teachers. They were worried that if I got good grades, the other kids would say that it was because my parents were biased. So, they decided that I should go to Public School.

It was in the fourth grade that I learned about trick-or-treating. All I had to do was put on a costume and go from house to house and I got free candy! I wanted to get as much as I could. And I would steal it, if necessary, to make my stash as big as possible. It wasn't fun. It was more like a job.

My last year of trick-or-treating was eighth grade. I was set on getting the world's record. Out I went with my brown paper bag. I filled it, went home, got another, and then another. On my fourth bag I ran into two older boys, Richard Selke and John Belushi (yes, the SNL guy). They wanted my candy. I said, "No." So they threw me in the ditch and took it. It was late and I had to go home. That ended my quest for the record.

Since then I have not enjoyed Halloween. Halloween seems to be a festival that embraces evil. I am uncomfortable wearing costumes. And I never liked carving pumpkins. It is such a messy waste. I don't like the seeds or the pie. I have heard the explanations about the old Celtic rituals for chasing away spirits and all that. You can have it. I'm happy if you are happy. It's all yours! Have fun. Boo.

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