Traditional

For years, I hated Halloween.  Buying items to make a specific costume to wear once bothers my inner skinflint.  I'm bad at makeup, my hair only allows a handful of hairstyles, and it probably didn't help that I spent the better part of my twenties drifting slowly into a pit of anxiety. Fun, you say? On a specific day, surrounded by people? I'll just stay at home and wallow, thanks. 

Then I Became A Mother.™ Consider me redeemed. 

This is my second Halloween where I've dolled up the boy but the first where we went around the block in search of treats.  As an urban planner, this is the juxtaposing day of the year where I realize how much better I could be at getting to know my neighbors.  As an American, it's one of the few days of the year I think to myself that maybe we do actually care about giving kids a meaningful, wonder-filled childhood. You can dress up as you please and go door to door to collect candy from your neighbors. I'd forgotten that magic.

I understand -- kind of -- how people would prefer a trunk or treat.  And I'm sure I'll be begged otherwise when this kid gets an invite, but I'm not so sure on Halloween parties. There's nothing magical about a party.  

Plus there was the story from one of my co-workers about how her neighbor's kids had already vomited from too much candy on October 30th. 

The inconvenience of Halloween is part of its allure. It was not convenient to bundle up my toddler and drag him around the neighborhood with the temperature just above freezing on a Tuesday evening.  But my pay off was his wide-eyed wonder at knocking on doors (a favorite thing of his) and people appearing, bestowing on him treats. He clutched his basket, wondering what we were going to do with these colorful tschotchkes. Once home, he made quick work of half a Reeses. He went to bed, heavy-lidded and chirping about his day. 

So that's how I find myself a Halloween Traditionalist.  We will trick-or-treat. We will do it in our own neighborhood. And, by God, we will do it on October 31st.