Halloween Humor…Paper Bags, Hard Cider, and Dirty Old Men….

Some afterthoughts about Halloween….
Years ago, when dinosaurs roamed free and I was a child, Halloween costumes were generally creative projects rather than store-bought fare. Case in point — my very first Halloween costume (circa age 2) was a brown paper grocery bag turned upside down with eye and mouth holes cut out.
Since I lived on the third floor of an apartment building populated for the most part by senior citizens and was the only child in said building, I had the dubious fortune of getting to go through my building early for Beggars’ Night (Trick-or-Treat in modern lingo). My kindly neighbors appreciated my annual visit; however, since many of them tended to forget the occasion until I knocked on their door, my haul tended to include a number of aging apples hastily located by a quick rummage in the fridge. But it was fun, nonetheless, to see the light in the faces of my neighbors who received very few visits from anyone. Actually, one woman down the hall gave me my fanciest Halloween treat ever — a miniature porcelain tea set complete with pink-flowered tray, teapot, creamer, sugar saucers, and cups! Wow!
After begging in my building, I got to go out to the side streets. My mom raised me to be a chocoholic (and future diabetic), so we’d split the goodies. Snickers were an all-time favorite.
For three years I was a bunny since my wonderful aunt loved to sew and created a bunny costume complete with cotton tail. So…as long as it fit, I hopped along!
During my early teen years, our church youth group had parties. I don’t recall any issues between religion and Halloween. In those days (the days before gore and horror became the “thing”), we were just out to dress up and have fun. Nothing particularly macabre. For one such party, my two friends and I waxed a bit creative (or maybe just a bit weird) and decided to be beatniks for the church party. We sprayed our hair white, glommed on heavy black eye liner, and donned black tights and long tunic sweaters. My mom, who was a character unto herself, had a collection of fancy cigarette holders (one of which was actually telescopic), so we borrowed those (sans cigarettes) to add to the authenticity. We chose our characters’ names by going through the phone book, closing our eyes, and letting our circling finger land upon the name we would use. Somehow, I was Oncie the Leader; my friend Becky was Milton the Mouthpiece; and friend Sue was Shelton the Crowd. Don’t ask. I don’t know why. But, yes, we had fun!! (Following that experience, I actually sort of faded in and out of beatnikness over a few years. Maybe still.)
When my human son was in school, I was a room mother. An enthusiastic room mother, but perhaps a bit misguided at points. For kindergarten, the room mothers dressed up, and I decided to be a vampire and dressed in all black with brooding makeup, plastic vampire teeth, and a red magic marker drool trailing from my lip. Scared the poor kindergartners! They plastered themselves to the lockers across the hall from me during their parade to get as far away as possible until I washed off the makeup. (Oops!)
The next booboo I made was when my son was in second grade. I had to work that day so had volunteered to bring the cider since a woman in the business office of the child services building had posted a sign selling cider and I could just buy it from her and take off time mid-day for the kids’ party. When I transferred the cider from the coworker’s car to mine, she explained that the black stuff floating in the cider was from the whiskey barrels it was brewed in. Okay, I thought, and went on to the second grade party. When we poured the cider out for the children, half of them were running to the drinking fountain to rinse out their mouths, and the other half were guzzling the stuff. (Oops!) Did I mention that the second grade teacher was the school’s “mean teacher” and that kids and parents alike feared her? Well,…she was. So, red-faced, apologetic, and trembling, I apologized to her and explained that I had bought it from a woman who worked at children’s services and knew it was being purchased for a kids’ party. The teacher smiled and said, “It’s okay. They’ll go home. They’ll go to bed early. Their parents will love you.” And henceforth, we had established a common bond.
There were many more Halloween costumes and stories, but I will leave you with one last “oops!”. Back in the 80s political correctness was not a “thing” just yet. I was a social worker, and my peers were quite accepting of comic relief. I was also involved in theatre and had very creative friends with what at times might be considered a twisted sense of humor. So, for one of the theatre parties, I donned a little-girl type frilly dress and painted on big black eyelashes and round pink circles on my cheeks. My husband wore a pair of jeans shorts under a long trench coat, put on a weird knit floppy-brimmed hat, and stuffed his pockets full of candy. His line for the night was “Candy, little girl?” a la the dirty old man on the Laugh-In TV show. It was pretty funny back in the day (but not so sure it would fly very well this year….).