Halloween has rolled around once again. Every year I am reminded of my own youth and the excitement of fall coming around, when once again my brothers and I could head off down the street to get candy from the neighbors, all because we put on a crummy costume.
I remember the costumes well. I had the Ben Cooper variety. You know the kind – the “don’t get anywhere near a candle polyester because you’ll burst into flames” variety that came from Wigwam or Newberrys.
Yes, that’s me as Fred Flintstone. I was four at the time. My brother Brian is with me. I think he’s wearing a costume; but I can’t tell for sure.
I still marvel at the fact that my mother is letting me go trick or treating at four years old. And in a flammable costume with a plastic mask that eventually tried to affixiate you as you breathed your own breath back in, over and over again. Condensation from exhalation covered the inside of the mask like sweat.
You also couldn’t readily see any cars coming your way. I can only guess that my mother figured she was still young enough to pop out a replacement child if Fred or the devil were ever killed while trying to cross the street in hot pursuit of free candy.
As you’ll recall back then, the candy was well worth the pursuit. No one had thought to make minis or midgies. There were only full sized candy bars – Three Musketeers, Sugar Daddys, bags of Sugar Babies, big suckers, Tootsie Rolls, Paydays – man, my mouth is watering even at the thought of them.
In the early years, I made due with the plastic pumpkin that my mother had bought for each of the boys. It was sufficient in size to do our entire street, which was about two dozen houses, if we hit my own house twice.
As I got older and was allowed to go out on the next street, the pumpkin was woefully ill prepared to hold all my ill gotten gains. Ill gotten, you say? Even as a kid I thought it was odd that we could put on a costume, walk up to a total stranger’s house, get candy just for saying three simple words and not end up being abducted and killed by some lonely bachelor.
As I got older, my trick or treating skills become very refined. I had “Knock, Talk and Walk” down pat and could cover a lot of ground between sunset and 10 when people started turning off their porch lights, signaling the end of the goodies train.
To help you visualize the trek my friends and I went on, I have made a map. The yellow is the area I covered roughly until I was 9. The purple was by the time I was 13. In that last year I calculated that we walked about eight miles during the night, going up and down every street we could find.
The pumpkin had become a large gunny sack by now and by the end of the evening, Bob Core and I had to sling them over our backs, the weight of candy being so heavy. We tried our best to lighten the load as we walked, mainlining candy between stops. When we got home around 10:30 or so, my mother would inspect our haul, always removing the pieces deemed dangerous from her perspective. They always seemed to be her favorites, too. How odd.
As with all the boys in our family, I was forced to retire from trick or treating at the tender age of 13. Too much potential for monkey business. We had all heard the urban legends about the high school kids with switchblade knives who wouldn’t think twice about cutting you if you didn’t surrender your candy. I knew that was all a bunch of bunk, but my mother was adamant.
I never have lost my love of Halloween, however. When I got my job in the Associated Grocers mailroom, I decided to dress up in a costume the second year I worked there. We didn’t have a Halloween dress up day back then. It wasn’t until I got my PR job there three years later that we had an official dress up day. Hhm, I wonder who pushed that through?
I should clarify. I didn’t just dress up in one costume. I wore three that day. Every time I went on a run, I was dressed differently. One time I was a pirate, the next a soldier and then finally a Secret Service agent, complete with sunglasses and earpiece. Yes, I was the only one in costume.
Why did I do it? Because I could. I had already learned two valuable lessons in life. First, it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Second, it’s always better to be the only one in a costume than to be one of a crowd.
These rules have served me well. And now that I am at an age where “trick or drink” has replaced trick of treat, the last rule is perhaps the most important.
Case in point. While everyone else flocks to Fantasy Fest in Key West every year, I would never go. Why? Because I don’t want to be the one that blends into the crowd. I don’t want to be the one of 25,000. It holds no fun for me and the perks would be few and far between. That event is far more suited to those who would never be brave enough to walk into a bar they never have been in before and just sit down in full regalia the other 364 days in the year. It would be unthinkable.
For me, it is a way of life. What’s more, when you’re the only one in costume, magic happens. It’s always Halloween for you. I can walk into any bar in the area and within a half hour have a free drink. I don’t need to do a thing really, except be the only guy who looks different that day. I learned this 30 years ago, and why anyone just wants to be part of a costumed crowd is beyond me – there’s nothing special about it or you.
For me, every day is Halloween. I can dress up any time I want and live a fantasy. I don’t need a fest in Key West to do it.
Out on the Treasure Coast, with my costume on, knowing that I’m going to win the “best costume” award again this year at CommuniCreations,
– Robb