Trick, or Treat?
Single-handedly raising seven children in a little 3 bedroom house is a monster task, pun intended. Five boys and two girls would have sent me straight to a white pillow-padded room long ago, but as my dear four-and-a half-foot Grandma used to tell me in a notable Jersey accent (cup of kwuh-fee in hand), “You can have Christmas, but give Halloween to me, Cliff, Johnny, Duke, Pat, Bob, Rose & Nan.” And so it was…a perfect place in life for everyone.
Johnny (a.k.a. dad) and the rest of the Brossa Battalion, down to every last great-grandchild, will attest to the one revered day where the family matriarch transformed her little home on Belshaw Avenue into something more along the lines of a Norman Rockwell version of ‘Nightmare before Christmas.’ Antique cauldrons and witches’ brooms, hand-carved pumpkins and darling dolls of snaggle-toothed old women with tall black hats staged her lively lair. Spiderwebs and big postcards of black cats hung in each window with the faint orange glow of a candle, while flea market treasures, old and new, proudly adorned every interior inch.
Yes, Grams romanticized October 31st, saving her little pennies throughout the year for the entire event. Not just because her seven little angels got to let their tails down, but to her, there was something delightfully magical about that crisp fall night when barren maples cast silhouettes against the giant moon high in the sky. When creaking old elms showered their leaves into heaps below for spooky things to hide under (like her dog Gaucho). It was a night when all the town children would come-a-knocking, and she would greet each one – her beautiful silver hair a natural accompaniment to a hand-stitched cape - not with a frightful scare, but with a genuine cackle of joy as she handed even the tiniest fairy princess and the grimmest of Grimm Reapers a carefully-chosen treat.
Now - this is just an observation, but things seem to be done a bit differently in this neck of the woods. First of all, its typically quite HOT here in October, with a slight chill after the sun sets…hard to decide between the Tinkerbell or thick furry kitty costume. Next, we’d be hard-pressed to let our children trick-or-treat “out there” on their own, so its just as well for us to leave a plastic pumpkin full of Hershey bars on the well-lit porch with a little sign announcing “Please take ONE.” And the most observable distinction between here and there, then and now, her and us, is perhaps the entire spirit behind it all. Mad rushes to crammed costume warehouses, bulk candy and evil masks on the doorstep are mere markers of a new and somewhat desensitized era.
Now, many of you may not participate in this particular holiday at all…I’m not a huge proponent of it myself, what with the whole Pagan festival roots and such. True, I spend an entire evening hand-bagging novelty & old-fashioned candy with hard-to-find toys. Admittedly, we all get dressed up and walk the block together while a grandparent or auntie hands out the goodies to the ghouls in the hood, and just for the record, coming home with loot that would discredit Bonnie & Clyde has NOTHING to do with my sweet tooth, but that’s neither here nor there.
The point is, we so often miss the mark on how to celebrate a special occasion. Whether that day happens to be Halloween or simply a “Fall Fun Night,” whether its Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Easter or even a birthday. These are rare opportunities that merit a just a little extra thought. We are creating lasting – no, permanent – memories for our children here…why not relish whatever it is we’re commemorating with a personal touch…a stamp of who we are?
By simply taking a second to ask yourself what is important to your family during a particular season of time, your answers will likely lead to unexpected inspiration... perhaps even spawn ideas to begin new traditions of your own. We like to save the seeds from our carved pumpkins and oven-bake them with herbs and seasonings. The kids then bag them up for teachers’ gifts the next day with little tags proudly announcing “made with love from the Barrettes.”
Whatever the occasion, however big (or small) the brood or bank account, you only live once. Children are only children for a few short years, and each year that passes is a chapter in your book that will be passed along to generations after we’re gone. I know I want my children to be excited to tell our story, just as much as we love telling little Grams’ story. Happy Halloween!
