Several recent studies have indicated that adults are increasingly embracing Halloween Trick or Treat. Actually, I didn't know that the trend ever went away. One year, my mother and a few of her friends decided they would go trick or treating after, if memory serves, a couple Tom Collins, and the memory is horrifying for me; a call-out to Freud each time I conjure up the thought of it.
Now, if it is a trend, I'm not surprised. Adults, and I've been one for the better part of a half century, are prone to take over everything. They want to be their kids' teacher, their coach, their referee, and once a year, they want to march around the neighborhood with them in a costume and gobble up huge amounts of chocolate that will foul up their digestive system for weeks. So, I say, ladies and gentleman over the age of, let's say, 25, if you are thinking about becoming a sexy nurse or climbing into some adult donkey costume because you want to demonstrate that you're lots of fun, or you're racking your brain to come up with some wittily ironic costume, don't do it. The holiday is for kids.
Now, please don't take this as a grumpy old man going anti-holiday. One of the first essays I did in this space was about my recipe for Thanksgiving stuffing, and I will talk Thanksgiving all day. I'll talk favorite Christmas carols. Take me to the fireworks display. And I'll even watch an Easter parade. But Halloween trick or treating is, in my opinion, one of the scourges visited upon our holiday culture.
All Hallows' Eve goes back to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, which was celebrated on October 31, and it marked the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. The Celts believed that on that night, the spirits of the dead could return to the world of the living, which is what I believe each time I see a man over the age of 30 in a Darth Vader costume.
Studies have also determined that adults are so involved in trick or treating that a certain percentage — about 25% — judge their own neighbors by the quality of the Halloween candy they hand out, and a larger percentage — about 50% — buy "premium candy" so they will not be judged for being a bad candy house. I will cop to keeping my lawn trimmer than I might normally because I don't want to be judged a bad lawn house, but never would I stoop to buying "premium candy" just to suck up to the neighbors. By the way, we always have Reese's peanut butter cups for trick or treaters.
To get back to the Celts, or the Celts or the Celts, whatever they are, they donned costumed made from animal skins and built bonfires to ward off these spirits. Just so you understand I'm not a complete killjoy about trick or treat, I do adhere to that tradition in my own way. Each year, myself and my neighbor, Kyle Rodgers (yes, it's true, I live in Mr. Rodgers' neighborhood) drag out my fire pit and sit in my driveway to welcome trick or treaters. We may or may not have a bottle of an adult beverage open to pass the time.
The experience this year will be even better because Kyle's 18-month-old grandson will be walking the streets while tagging along with his mom and grandmom in a costume. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the portrait of trick or treat that works: a young child toddling along in a dragon costume, receiving candy and wondering what the hell is going on.
Now, if you as an adult show up as Lucille Ball or Ed Sullivan, you'll only spoil the picture. So please come and knock on my door; I'll be glad to give your children some candy and smile about their costume. Just make sure they're the only one wearing one.
