Apparently we moved into a city that regulates trick-or-treating hours and limits it to two hours. I feel this is a bit of theft of a classic childhood experience – my Halloweens growing up were always characterized by late nights and long, long, long journeys, wherein I would try to get more candy than my brother, and we would try to get more candy than the neighbors. And these poor kiddos … they don’t even get the chance to over-fill their pillowcases – I mean, how many homes can you reach in 2 hours? Not enough, naturally.
So, being the rebels that we are, we kept our light on a bit longer. Apparently, though, we also moved into a city where people follow the rules.
Oh well, more fun-sized 3 Musketeers for us.
Another earth-shattering relevation: No one in East Central IL does a trick to get their treat! Growing up in St. Louis, the build-up to Halloween was picking out the perfect joke or practicing rolling your tongue (or whatever odd thing you could do) to get ready for your October 31st porch performance. Every house asked for a trick before they brought out the candy bowl, and if they were impressed, you could usually count on at least 2 pieces.
So imagine my surprise when I opened the door to a ninja and asked for a joke, and the ninja replied, with sad eyes, “I don’t have a joke … ?” John then clued me in that the jokes were probably a regional tradition, since he had never heard of kids actually working for candy before, and told me to stop harassing the trick-or-treaters.
Still, Halloween was great. My favorites were a pair of twins (a fairy and a phantom) who told me they were allergic to dairy, so I gave them granola bars and endeared myself to them forever, to the point where they wanted to sit on the porch and chat with me. Did I have a family? (I have a husband!) Did I have kids? (Just a dog. Oh, we love puppies!) Did I want to know their names? (Yes, of course) Their mom eventually came to collect them.