Hell-oween
Scary reflections on a
less-than-hallowed holiday
by
Margo Oxendine,
Contributing Writer
Margo
Oxendine
|
I�ve been writing this column for
10 years now. Every October, I am stumped. The editor always reminds me my
column was due �yesterday.� I always respond that I have no idea, and ask if
there�s a �theme.� There never is.
But it�s October. There IS a theme, and it�s Halloween. I
can�t believe I�ve never rambled on about Halloween.
It�s my least favorite holiday. That�s because, as a kid,
I never got to be what I wanted at Halloween: a princess or a fairy. My
mother thought a clown or a hobo was more appropriate. In retrospect, Mom
was right. I am far more suited to a clown or hobo. I sometimes laughingly
refer to myself as a �goddess,� but a princess? No.
Thank heavens I no longer have to �dress up� for
Halloween. I do not like costumes, unless I�m wearing one on a stage. I
recently attended a �Tacky Tourist� party. I wore my regular clothes, and
fit right in with guests who spent hours putting their costumes together.
I really do delight at seeing little kids in costumes.
Adults? Not so much. I spent too many years in Key West and San Francisco to
be impressed or surprised. I have seen a man painted completely silver, on
roller skates, calling himself �Mercury.� I have seen a guy on stilts,
portraying Daryl Hannah in Attack of the 50-foot Woman. I think I may well
have seen it all.
A few weeks ago, I did a feature story on a �womanless
beauty pageant.� It was a hometown, country-boy version of what I�d seen in
Fire Island and Provincetown. If I never see another fellow in an evening
gown, it will be too soon.
It�s time to buy candy for trick-or-treaters. I do this
now, although I haven�t had a goblin at my door in at least 10 years.
I have handed out apples, oranges, anything I could grab
from the fridge or pantry, including an avocado. I won�t forget that child�s
face as he peered into his basket. Talk about surprised.
In the past, I found myself surprised to discover it was
Halloween. I didn�t realize it until my doorbell rang, and then it was too
late. I had just moved into my San Francisco flat one Oct. 31. I was busy
unpacking and had no idea it was a holiday. That night, I discovered I had a
doorbell with a loudly alarming sound. I have heard fire sirens that were
less jarring.
I opened the door to find a porch full of kids. None were
wearing costumes, but all were holding brown paper grocery bags, and
shouting �Trick or treat!� They were accompanied by hulking, scary-looking
escorts. I was frightened, sure, but it wasn�t a happy, Halloween-type of
feeling.
I gulped. I had absolutely nothing to give them. And they
weren�t leaving until I did. Thinking fast, I spied a giant jar of change my
housemate collected. So, I dropped a handful into each kid�s bag.
Word spread quickly that the crazy new neighbor lady was
giving away money. The cursed doorbell was still ringing at 4 a.m.
There are few �neighborhoods� in rural locales. Houses are
far-flung. Trick-or-treaters are few. We have one populous neighborhood in
Bath: Bacova. It is a legendary haunt for Halloween visitors. I have heard
that busloads from West Virginia have arrived to unleash sugar-crazed
goblins on the place.
I was surprised again by Halloween when I lived in
Millboro. The little village is also a populous place, albeit more spread
out than Bacova.
When the first knock on the door came that Halloween
night, I had to scramble yet again. This time, I was handing out cans of
soup and jars of peanut butter.
Before long, a crowd of perhaps 40 adults and kids had
gathered on my sidewalk. This time, I couldn�t hide behind the anonymity of
San Francisco. These people knew very well who I was, and if I didn�t come
through, well, there could be consequences.
�Let me run to the store!� I shouted to the throngs.
I hastened to the nearby Millboro General Store. I bought
up every bag of candy I could find. When I returned, the crowd had swelled.
I couldn�t even get into my driveway.
I exhausted my candy supply, and myself, that night. Since
then, I�ve vowed to be prepared. How about a nice hard-boiled egg? You love
�em at Easter; why not on Halloween?