I used to be a Halloween grinch.
I’m a scaredy cat. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video spooks me if I watch it at home, at night, by myself. Please, who am I kidding? I’m creeped out during the day. Slasher flicks don’t interest me. The rare times I watch horror movies, I’m peeking between fingers and with a clenched stomach. Goblins, ghouls and ghosts aren’t my thing. I did prefer Freddie over Jason movies as a teenager because at least that serial killer displayed a crafty sense of humor.
So, a holiday celebrating the macabre turned me off — as an adult. As a child, I loved to trick-or-treat, devouring bite-sized chocolates plopped into orange buckets. By the time I got to high school — long past the days of boxed, 1980s plastic mask costumes such as Wonder Woman — Halloween bored me. I did not see the fun in zombies or in the heart-racing induced by creeping into a haunted house.
Besides, Halloween felt like inviting negative, devilish energy into my space. I didn’t dread the holiday like I did going to the dentist, but I snarled like a gargoyle.
Did I mention I’m a scaredy cat?
My sourpuss attitude softened when I admired friends who concocted creative costumes, such as boozy Patsy from the British television show “Absolutely Fabulous.” Or my sister, who braided an Amazon wig to dress up as singer Rick James. I applaud originality, and I loathe the sexualized costume versions of professions (“sexy police officer,” “sexy nurse,” “sexy warden.”) And every year, some folks must be told: No cultural appropriation. You can dress up as a Black character wearing a costume, but no blackface. Native American garb is not a costume.
In recent years (maybe blame it on motherhood!) my attitude toward Halloween has reversed. Toddler Halloween vibes aren’t the least bit frightening. Baby pumpkin costumes are cherubic. A little girl with freckles dotted on by magic markers, to dress up as Doc McStuffins, is charming.
Now I look forward to the holiday and I’m joining the fray. I can’t believe it.
Last year I dressed up as Janet Jackson from the “Pleasure Principle” video. I even attended a friend’s Halloween party, in which their home was transformed into a funhouse of terror, from a front yard-turned-graveyard to a life-size horror figure lounging in the living room as if waiting for a cold brew.
As I contemplate my newfound affinity toward Halloween, I realize it’s actually an extension of my love for the fall season. Summertime Chicago is legendary. But fall is right behind it, and it’s in full effect by October. Autumn is more renewing to me than spring. The beauty of sunset-colored leaves. Strolling the Morton Arboretum in suburban Lisle.
While I like my pumpkins spiced in a latte, the gourd is everywhere during the Halloween season. I accept that, and have stopped resisting. October is also the best time to go apple picking at myriad farms in the area that also sell scrumptious donuts. Fall is crisp air, layered fashion and bonfires. Fall is the kitchen smell of a buttery crisp, bubbling in the oven, made from the picked apples; it’s butternut squash roasted with rosemary. Fall is sunny days and firepit nights.
I now associate Halloween with more than October 31st. But I’m no longer a grinch. In fact, this year I’ll be Isabella. Our family is enthusiastically dressing up as members of the Madrigal family from the Disney movie “Encanto.”
But I will not be watching AMC’s FearFest, a marathon of scary movies Halloween weekend. A former grinch has her limits.
Natalie Moore is a reporter for WBEZ.
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