When I say she gave out candy, I mean the good stuff. No “Fun Size” candy bars, no generic gum, no popcorn balls and no freaking apples. I’m talking about the full-sized Snickers and Bazooka Joe. Primo.

My parents would stand at the end of the block and wait while we performed from house to house. We had to sing, dance, tell jokes, or do something more than knock. One year that I went as Jimmy Carter and a friend was Ronald Regan. We went from house to house performing the mini “debate” we had worked out. Boy, I was a dork.

By comparison, my own kids’ Halloween is dull. Last year, Grace wore a Snow White dress that she already owns. Paired with her red ruby slippers and blond hair, she was a mish-mash of fictional characters (I called her Snow White in Oz). William wore an Old Navy dog costume that was just a glorified coat and hat.

Strangest of all is the trick-or-treating. We went to Main Street around 4:00. The shopkeepers “decorated” (if a skull Xeroxed to orange paper counts as a decoration) and handed out candy to the kids. The whole thing is profoundly strange. First, we were out during the day! What the hell? Secondly, we visited stores, not people’s homes. Nothing says “Halloween” like a bag of Twizzlers from the head shop. However, Main Street was packed with kids and their families, so I guess we aren’t the only strange ones.

We got home around 7:00, and that’s when I performed the Saddest Part Of Halloween. Gracie has a peanut allergy, which means I must divide her loot into two piles: “Edible” and “Lethal” (see above). It’s sad to deny her a portion of her candy, but even sadder to slam an EpiPen into her leg and rush to the ER.

So, that’s our Halloween. Different than I remember, but still fun. Mostly.

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