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David Spates Halloween very dramatic when you're 8 The morning after always generated fantastic
tales of conquest and debauchery. We would all exaggerate greatly,
alleging more success in one night than could be achieved in
a decade's worth of effort. There's something uniquely male about
overstating your prosperity to other males. The other guys know
you didn't do everything you claim, and you know they know, but
nevertheless it makes for great lunchroom conversations. Of course I'm talking about Halloween. My trick-or-treating career lasted maybe seven
years or so, but the memories and the love of Halloween have
endured. Is there anything better in this world than putting
on a costume and parading from house to house politely asking
folks to smell your feet and give you something good to eat?
I think not. Perhaps the only thing better might be the
debriefings my friends and I gave at school the morning after.
At issue were how much candy you gathered and how much chaos
you inflicted on the neighborhood -- both of which were exercises
in misrepresentation. If what we claimed were even half true,
Nestle still would be recovering from the candy shortage and
the Los Angeles riots would have seemed like a Rotary Club luncheon
by comparison. "That's all the candy you got? Geez!
I came home with three pillow cases full! I also egged all the
teachers' houses and torched the principal's car. The cops chased
us for a while, but we were able to outrun 'em." What nonsense -- but what fun. I'm sure there's some sort of psychoanalytical
explanation as to why boys have an intrinsic need to lie to one
another about what mischief they cause. Perhaps it's the whole
"alpha male" thing - everyone trying to be the lead
dog. We were too young to lie about girls, so lies about Halloween
conquests were pretty much all we had. In addition to the web of lies told at school
the morning after, another of the vivid memories I have of Halloween
were the plastic masks that made regular, steady breathing nearly
impossible. I always had a Ben Cooper costume that came in a
small box with the mask peering through the cellophane. The masks had little mouth slits through which
a young lad was supposed to inhale and exhale, but what invariably
happened was that the combination of a tiny airhole and an excited
child led to near hyperventilation and suffocation. After the first few houses, the inside of
the mask would be soaked with steamy exhaled breath, and for
the rest of the evening I would wear my mask only when I was
on the doorstep of a house. After receiving my bounty from each
house, I'd immediately flip up the mask to my forehead like a
catcher tracking down a foul tip. And I wasn't the only one suffering through
the Ben Cooper mask torture. Walking along the street you'd see
many a child with their masks riding atop their foreheads as
they gasped and wheezed for a few unobstructed breaths before
returning to the trenches for another trick-or-treat proposition. It was all very dramatic when you're 8. Even though my trick-or-treating days have
long-since passed, I still enjoy Halloween. I like it because the holiday asks very little
of you. You don't need to go Halloween shopping (except for a
little candy and maybe a costume for your kid), you don't have
to budget your finances to fulfill your shopping list, and there's
no stack of Halloween cards to mail. No special meals, no social
obligations, no special church service (unless you're a Satanist,
I suppose). It's just goofy fun. You can do as much or as little
as you like. So a few masked kids pass out from a lack of oxygen. Big deal. It's a small price to pay for such splendid memories. |