For some reason, my 3-year-old daughter loves Halloween more than bodybuilders love thongs and grease. She starts talking about Halloween on Jan. 1 and doesn't stop until Jan.1 rolls around again, and then she starts over.
Her love for Halloween has nothing to do with candy. The small girl has the patience and calf muscles needed to walk miles, in combination with the strength to carry buckets of chocolate, gummies and all the other crap they pass out on Halloween – but doesn't eat it. I know what you are thinking; a child that doesn't eat all the candy up means that I'm incredibly blessed and always receive glowing reports from her kiddy dentist. Yes, this is all true, and I'm thankful for that reality. My wife and I usually leave most of her candy at the door, where other people's children and stressed out grown-ups who visit us can indulge as much as they like.
So if she's not in it for the candy, why does my daughter love the dark holiday? Simple, she’s in to the monsters, scary creatures and scaring people – which is even scarier.
For giggles, she enjoys hiding behind pillows, leaping out of closets and springing up from under the bed, with her tiny face twisted in the most uncomfortable way possible, screaming, "Arrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhh!"
Sometimes, I slip up and laugh because she's way too cute to be scary, which is never good enough for her. So, she takes a deep breath, twists her face even more and lets out a bigger, "Arrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
In response to her second or third attempt, I scream at the top of my lungs and shoot off in search of a safe hiding space.
"Oh no, you are the scariest baby in the world!" I say, in an effort to grease her ego.
This makes my daughter laugh hysterically and leaves her feeling like she completed the mission. I used to be excited about Halloween, just like her.
I loved Halloween as a kid, mainly for the candy; terrorizing people was a bonus. There was no Amazon back when I was a kid, so you couldn't get a costume or anything shipped to your house in one to three days. We had to rely on big chain stores like Kmart and Walmart to supply us with the necessary costumes and accessories. Children like myself from east Baltimore never really prioritized Halloween, as it was something that we only thought about around the last week of October. So, when we finally decided what we wanted to be and rolled up to Kmart searching for the Dracula outfit, everything would be picked through, smashed up and gone. This allowed us kids to be extra experimental.
Now, keep in mind I started the journey of dressing up and trick-or-treating on my own in the late '80s and early '90s, which happened to be at the height of the crack era – which means if you spilled over into my neighborhood, most of the kids were dressed as three things: a crack addict, a homeless person which we called a hobo or a crack addict hobo. Yes I understand that these terms are not acceptable in today's society, but I'm talking about 1989.
The sickest part of this story, or maybe the only instance in American history where that the pendulum of racist actions swung in favor of our white counterparts, is candy options. White people are historically known to give out better candy on Halloween. This is true, has been proven – please go debate someone else. As a matter of fact, I would argue that Halloween is like Juneteenth for white people.
"We must never trick-or-treat on our block under any circumstances," my cousin Kevin would tell me with wide eyes, "All of the good candy resides with the white people."
We would walk over a mile into the white section of east Baltimore near Patterson Park, and Kevin was right. Those white families decorated every inch of their home, create a haunted houses for us kids to run in and out of and more importantly gave away whole Reese's cups, large Kit Kat bars, jumbo Snickers, bags of peanut M&M's and the big Three Musketeers. They never heard of terms like bite-sized or fun-sized; these people were swimming in candy, and we would fill trash bags. The candy I collected on Halloween used to last from the night of the 31st to way past my birthday in February; it was terrific. Terrific until those awful bag snatchers started popping out.
What bag snatchers do is all in the name; they snatch bags. Usually, older kids sit back in the shadows, waiting for you to finish your two to three hours of knocking on doors and collecting just so they can pop out and take it from you. And there's nothing you can do about it because they are normally bigger and faster, and even if you caught them, they were older, so they would kick your a**.
I was the victim of this, and it was extra embarrassing because a group of girls rolled up on me, like, “OK boy, you so cute!”
I should have identified the red flag instantly because girls didn't walk up to me, telling me how cute was; however, my sneakers were new, and I had just gotten a haircut so go ahead and insert the male ego. I rolled up to the young woman looking to grab some phone numbers. As one touched my hair, another girl ripped the bottom of my trash bag, spilling all of my candy into the street. Her friend swooped it all up from the ground and took off in every direction, leaving me candy-less. That was my last time trick-or-treating. From then on, I decided to be a bag snatcher, too.
The uniform for snatching a bag is minimal; you only need a black hoodie and a ski mask. If you were tough, you would go out to grab without cover, but I thought showing your face was silly. That is as much as I know about the rules because I only tried this once, and it was a complete disaster.
My friends and I shot jumpers on the basketball court, waiting until it was very dark outside, giving the neighborhood kids enough time to fill their sacks. Around 9:00 p.m., we left the court and relocated to an alley next to a busy block. I saw about five kids my age, maybe a year younger or older, who all had full candy bags. So, I darted right into the center of them and snatched. Who knew I would try to take a bag from the only kid with the foresight to own a canvas tote in the early '90s and who happened to have the strongest hands in the city. I yanked the bag and felt my whole body swing back in the direction of the kid, who was also double my size, which I overlooked from the distance when I initially spotted him. His ghostly costume hid about 65 pounds.
"I'll kill you over this bag, little f**ker!" He screamed, strengthening his grip. I remained silent as we both fell to the ground, the giant ghost still clutching his bag. His more petite friend tried to help, so I snatched his plastic bag – success! This petite kid let out the scream of all screams; I mean, she sounded like Whitney Houston hitting a high note.
Yes, it wasn't a boy; it was a little girl, but I couldn't tell because she was dressed like a hobo. In a panic, I tossed her bag back towards their group and disappeared in the shadows. Snatching bags was not for me; I was never a thief, and I'm thankful for two things. The first is that stealing always felt terrible to me, and the second is that my daughter wouldn't care if a bag was snatched from her because she doesn't even eat the candy.
My baby girl has it figured out. The holiday is about fun. She's only been on this earth for a few years and has already dressed up as a pumpkin twice, a ballerina pumpkin, a mermaid and Diana Ross – but as the diva's version of Dorothy from The Whiz. As soon as we finish snapping on her little costumes, she runs to the mirror, laughs and giggles, and is excited to go mix in with the other kids who are dressed up as well.
She enjoys Halloween so much that my inner child is sporting a toothy smile and making me love the day as much as I used to. Because of her, and then I'm too big and old to have my bag snatched, I'm happy to give the day another chance.
For that, I remain thankful. Happy Halloween.
