The trick turned out to be the treat
I couldn't believe the scam worked! All I had to do was dress up like Top Cat, G.I. Joe or The Batman, hold open a plastic bag, yell some kitschy catchphrase, and grownups would hand over the most chocolate I’d seen since Easter. Cool!
The other 364 days of the year, if I asked for candy, all I'd hear were words like, “It'll spoil your supper,” “You'll rot your teeth” or “Did you bite the ears off your bunny already?”
It inevitably lead to intensified begging, pouting and another kitschy catchphrase: “Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about.” (Time-outs had not yet been invented and spankings still were applauded in those dismal days of dirty, rotten tricks.)
But on that one glorious day of the year, a kid could knock on any random door in the neighborhood and those very same grownups would load him up with candy!
It was as if there had been an alien invasion and shape-shifters had replaced all the parents, aunts and uncles and grumpy neighbors — only it wasn't scary at all.
There was one exception—my great-grandparents. Great-Grandpa Hall had an apple orchard and operated a cider mill on his farm.
Every year, Dad drove us to the great-grands’ home. Every year, instead of candy, Great-Grandma Hall pulled a gallon of apple cider from the blue Pepsi cooler on the back porch and gave it to us.
How could she play such a rotten trick?
Mom and Dad claimed that that cider was much more valuable than any Snickers bar. Adults were weird like that.
True, the cider was ice cold and delicious. Any other day of the year, it would be awesome. But Oct. 31 was reserved for CHOCOLATE! Did my Casper the Friendly Ghost costume mean nothing to her?
Passing out ranks right up there with those scary people who passed out toothbrushes. Or bags of zucchini. Yuck!
Decades have passed. My great-grandparents are long gone. The last time I drove by the old place, it didn’t look like the cider mill had been in operation for years.
I haven’t dressed up for candy in ages, either. The older I became, the more Halloween lost its innocence — or I lost mine. By the time I hit college, Halloween had become an excuse — as if any was needed — for beer and lewd behavior.
Then it became a giant industry to celebrate evil. Drive down any street at night and yards will be lit with skeletons and spooks, witches and zombies, axe murderers and werewolves.
Yes, I AM an old fuddy-duddy, but aren’t world affairs and everyday life filled with enough horror? Brrr. I don’t need any more shocks or scares.
I’m even afraid to watch “Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?” anymore, and those monsters are always unmasked as creepy people who would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.
What happened to friendly ghosts and chocolate?
I’ve found a salvage store where I can buy candy bars five for a dollar — 10 for a single when they’re overstocked. No costumes necessary, although they prefer that you wear something.
You know what I really want this Halloween? Exactly — another gallon of my great-grandparents’ apple cider, fresh and chilled straight out of the blue Pepsi-Cola cooler on the back porch. It all my years, I have never found better apple cider, on Halloween or any of the other 364 days of the year.
Another glass of that cider, served by Great-Grandma, would be so much more valuable than any Snickers bar. No trick. Pure treat.
Share a cold cider with Burt at burton.w.cole @gmail .com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.