In December, I’m all about Christmas: All month long, I bake cookies and blast carols from my iPod. But I’ve never been too enthusiastic about Halloween. This could be because I’m a pretty logical thinker, and presents last longer than candy, especially in a big, hungry family. It could also be because of some traumatic Halloween experiences I had in my childhood.
As a baby, I got sick after finishing 27 Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. When I was 3, my mom made me put a winter coat over my Tinker Bell costume. In kindergarten, when we wore our costumes to school, another girl showed up in my identical Belle costume.
(Fortunately, I got some redemption Halloween night when she saw that my brother had volunteered to be the Beast, while she had no such partner.) And when I was 8, I ripped my Snow White dress on a hayride at a country club party.
Since entering college, however, I’ve grown fonder of the holiday. As college students, we get just about as excited for Halloween as second-graders. There seems to be a typical path one follows in one’s feelings toward this holiday, which I’ve dubbed the “Halloween Trajectory.”
The first stage in the trajectory encompasses a baby’s first few Halloweens. At this time, we didn’t even know it was a holiday — or that we had noses, for that matter. Yet our parents felt the need to dress us up in ridiculous costumes and take an absurd number of pictures. It’s my personal belief that everyone can find the obligatory picture of themselves sitting on the stoop in a pumpkin costume in a family photo album. During this phase, we probably trick-or-treated at about three houses, accumulating enough candy to satisfy an ant.
Then we got a little older. For anyone between the ages of 3 and 8, Oct. 31 is one of the most important nights of the year. Kids order costumes in August after tearing through numerous catalogs. They drag their parents to the local pumpkin patch countless times, though their dads always end up carving the jack-o-lantern. During this phase, a few costumes reign supreme: cheerleaders for girls, firefighters for boys or any Disney character, which is applicable to both genders — evidenced by my younger brother, who dressed as Peter Pan for four years straight.
Then, around age 10, we realized that Halloween isn’t just about candy and pumpkins — it is also about terror. During this phase, we wanted to dress up as something scary to capture the true essence of Halloween. Kids opt to dress up as mummies, witches or goblins, rather than their favorite cartoon character. They forfeit the pumpkin patch for the haunted house, a change that subsequently leads to a week in a sleeping bag in their sibling’s bedroom.
We can admit now that we all looked pretty disgusting with fake blood caked on our faces. So thankfully, this last stage is pretty short. It soon gives way to the preteen notion of “I’m too cool for Halloween,” during which kids mock younger cohorts while secretly envying the latter’s overflowing pillowcases of candy.
Around age 16, we wanted to participate in Halloween festivities again, but the window of opportunity had usually passed. Luckily, I was a late bloomer and have two younger brothers, so I was able to stretch my trick-or-treating years out longer than most. Yet even if teenagers go door-to-door, neighbors are typically frustrated and stingy. They extend a single Tootsie Roll as opposed to the generous Kit Kats and Ring Pops of the past. Also, teenagers want to have parties that are met with strong resistance by their parents, and they have to go to school the next day, which is likely to start in the absurd pre-8 a.m. time frame.
But now we’re in college, and Halloween is fun again. And we don’t just get one night to celebrate; in fact, Halloween spans Thursday through Saturday the week of All Hallows Eve. Parties abound and now it’s the keg, not bags of candy, that runneth over. In fact, Patricia Lampkin, vice president and chief student affairs officer, even sent out a Halloween safety e-mail, encouraging us to drink responsibly and comply with police.
For one weekend, our childhood ability to don a crazy outfit and behave immaturely is acceptable once again. And we better take advantage now, because it won’t be too long before the Nickelodeon-character clad kids start beating on our doors for a fun-sized Twix — or full M&M bag, for a better neighborhood reputation.
Abby’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at a.coster@cavalierdaily.com.
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