The coronavirus pandemic has stolen from us so many outings, routines, and simple pleasures. How I long to stroll through Trader Joe’s, to visit the local cineplex on a Saturday morning for a “Live in HD” performance of the Metropolitan Opera, to sit shoulder to shoulder in the pews on a Sunday morning, to volunteer in my grandson’s kindergarten class, to meet my lifelong buddy Frank at Philippe’s for a French Dip sandwich and a slice of lemon meringue pie and a steaming cup of coffee in a sturdy ceramic mug!
Or to answer the bell on Halloween and greet all the kiddos on our doorstep who yell, “TRICK-OR-TREAT.” We have always loved to open the door to all the pee-wees in their costumes who hold up their bags and buckets … and to wave at the parents out there on the sidewalk. At about 7:00 all the little ones would go home. We would then welcome the second wave of revelers – the marauding packs of 8th graders who were barely costumed – and happily fill their pillowcases too.
So, imagine our chagrin when the powers-that-be reminded us that
“trick-or-treating” does not fall withing the safety guidelines of “social-distancing.” We get it. We do not argue with it. It makes perfect sense.
Yet, it still feels like we were robbed.
Of course, this potential loss of fun and candy does not come close to the loss of jobs, or the misery of the long-haulers, or the loss of life which robbed a quarter-of-a-million families nationwide. By comparison, our Halloween inconvenience is more like petty theft.
However, even in the direst of circumstances, we search for connection, a slice of normalcy, a sliver of hope, especially for our children and grandchildren. So, the good news is — to use a familiar metaphor — when the doors were slammed shut on our street, the windows flew open.
There are fourteen houses on our cul-de-sac, and half of them are home to kids ten-years-old and younger. This herd of half-pints, this gaggle of grandchildren, this army of ankle-biters, this regiment of rug rats? We made sure they were neither forgotten nor left out this year.
Rather than opening doors, the families on our street laid out the plunder outside on tables with spooky decorations. All munchies were individually wrapped, like those little packages of M & M’s, or the mini Almond Joy candy bars, or the heat-sealed baggies of homemade cookies. The “trick or treaters” worked their way up and down the street and helped themselves.
Then we all gathered at the end of the cul-de-sac. Everyone was appropriately distanced, and the parade began. We had raucous music and a microphone, and each family (kids, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles – whoever) in turn was introduced and proceeded to skip or saunter, boogie or moon-walk, sashay or shuffle in a loop within the huge circle of families and friends. There was wild applause throughout.
Perhaps because of the limits on celebrations this year, the families went crazy with the costumes. One family rocked Super Mario Bros. — the sons were Bowser, Mario and Toad, Mom was Princess Peach, and Dad was Luigi. Another family paid homage to the superstitions — Dad wore a Friday the 13th calendar page on his chest, one daughter was a black cat, another was framed in a mocked up shattered mirror, and Mom was walking under a cardboard stepladder. The three tweener witches were probably inspired by Shakespeare. One family channeled “The Wizard of Oz.” The neighborhood had just jumped in with both feet.
Never have we experienced the holiday with such a feeling of family and of community. It was fun for young and old alike. The costume parade was hilarious. The kids did not get so much candy as to become over-sugared for days after. Everyone wore masks, many of which were part of a costume, and no one had to drive anywhere.
We have all suffered to some degree the isolation and chaos that have accompanied the pandemic lockdowns. In our corner of the world, we experienced a couple of hours of the strength and the comfort of a village.
It was Halloween magic.
Tidings from Tim 