Oh! Trick or Treat!

“Oh!” Mom said, opening the door to my childhood home 2 years ago. I spent last Halloween here by myself – controlling Chienne as she desperately tried to make friends with all the happy children and passing out pound after pound of candy. But 2004 found Chienne and I abandoning my grad school city to watch the spectacle of trick-or-treating at my parents’ rural home.

“Are you supposed to be on some dance team?” She chirped happily as she reached for the bowl of candy. I looked up from my seat on the floor, clinging to Chienne’s collar, and cocked my head at the girl standing with her friend at the door.

She was probably 13 or so, though as I age I get worse at determining a young teenager from an older one. Dressed in a lacy black top, midriff bare, and a tiny spandex skirt, I wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be. But I did notice her scoff at my mother’s guess at her choice of costume.

“No.” The skimpily-clad girl said, with a roll of her eyes for her friend. I was inspired to roll my eyes as well. Save me from junior high girls who are ever so cool, yet out to gather free candy. Mom – perhaps from years of dealing with Brother and me (we were also very hip in middle school, if in no other place than our own minds) – was undeterred.

“So what is it you’re supposed to be?” She asked, smile firmly and politely in place, but eager to know what sort of non-dance-team costume this little outfit was meant to represent.

“I’m Gothic.” The girl said with a smirk.

“Oh.” Mom replied, her cheer fading to confusion as she surveyed the girl once again. She dropped candy into each of their bags with a final question.

“Aren’t you cold?”

She hadn’t shut the door completely before I started to giggle. She grinned down at me and shrugged before shaking her head.

“Those girls are too old for trick-or-treating.” She judged. “I only gave them one piece of candy each. And I don’t know what Gothic is.” Then she nodded once – decisively – before waiting patiently for me to stop laughing and catch my breath.

“From what she looked like,” Dad said from his seat in the recliner as he used the remote to increase the volume on his television show about cars, “Gothic is apparently another word for whore.”

I laughed harder and fended off kisses from Chienne – she loves people when they’re happy – and looked over at Mom as she considered her husband.

“She did look like a little slut-puppy.” She finally said. “I was trying to be polite when I asked if she was part of a dance or gymnastics team.”

“I don’t think she was impressed with your guessing ability.” I finally offered, and watched Dad chuckle.

“Well, I didn’t know what she was!” Mom defended herself. “And if I’m going to give her candy, I want to know who she’s trying to be! And anyway, I thought dance team was a pretty good try.”

“Maybe next time,” Dad advised – for he can’t let an opportunity for instruction pass him by for any reason, “you could just ask rather than trying to guess.”

But that’s not Mom’s way. So Dad and I watched fondly as she’d open the door.

“Oh! A ghost! How scary…”

“Be careful on the steps.”

“Oh! A princess! Aren’t you beautiful? Is that a wand? Are you a magical princess?”

“Oh, a cow... How adorable. Is he warm enough in there? I might have a little blanket you could use as you walk around.”

“You’re very welcome for the candy. Have a good night!”

“Ew, what an ugly mask! Can you breathe in there?”

“Oh! A clown! Look at your big red shoes!”

“Happy Halloween!”

And I tease because it would be difficult for me to admire or adore a woman more. And because I do the exact same thing – say all those same lines, frown when a costume befuddles me, coo when I see something cute. When faced with an evening filled with getting nothing done and missing the mindless watching of TV, it’s good to remember why I bought extra candy so I could watch the kids walk through the evening, all dressed up and eager for sugar.

I do it – I enjoy it – because my mom always has. She blessed me with many of her qualities and I’m pleased with most of them. As far as Dad goes, his advice was actually good. If confronted with a costumed creature I can’t recognize, I don’t guess. I just ask.