In my whole childhood, there was one singular autumnal opportunity where I was permitted to trick-or-treat. Candy collecting on October 31st was strictly forbidden by our church. My mother was so staunch about anything even remotely secular, that rarely did we even exchange gifts on Christmas; after all, presents were a wink at Santa Claus and commercialization. Given this mindset, who would even dare ask to dress up and go door to door, with a bag held open for candy to be dropped into?! 

May I just qualify my comments by saying that I do not embrace the darkness that surrounds much of October 31st. However, many of the holidays have pagan components or origins and we manage to sort our way around them. If you hold a different view, I respect and accept that; trust me, I was well indoctrinated in all the negative aspects of trick-or-treating. I remember the childish longing in my little heart to be like other kids and feel the excitement of dressing up and receiving candy. To say that I have a sweet tooth is akin to acknowledging the azure color of the sky. If I ever had a little spending money, those coins would burn a hole in my pocket until I could make it to Berg's, in our village of Hartville. I can still see Mr. Berg behind the counter with his thick soled shoes, wheezing from the effort of carrying his corpulent frame. He would hand you a brown paper bag, the size of a child's hand, and for fifteen cents, you could fill it with candy, from the unwrapped displays in front of the counter. With my sweaty, grubby hands, I would fill the little bag, and then empty it, because it was too difficult to narrow down the selections. The pressure of Mr. Berg's eyes would finally compel me to make my choices and complete the transaction. I can still taste those little waxy bottles with the drops of sugary liquid. I would bite off the top, sip the teaspoon of drink, and then chew the waxy bottle, pretending that it was a big wad of gum.

To have people give you a whole large bag of candy was nearly beyond my imaginative powers. Luck (or Providence, depending on your point of view) was on our side October 31, 1968. My mom was out of town, visiting relatives for a few days, and had left sixteen year old Sharon in charge. Sharon was our oldest sister, often our mother substitute, our oasis in the desert. Sharon usually ended up with several little siblings under her wings at night. She always welcomed us and never scolded if someone had an accident in her bed in the middle of the night. She would wake us up, change the bedsheets, and we would all go back to sleep. She was our angel. 

With Sharon in charge, that fateful day in 1968, we three youngest kids saw our opportunity; we begged and pleaded with her to let us roam through the neighborhood and collect sweet treats, the likes of which we had only dreamed of. Our well honed powers of persuasion worked, but only after we promised that we would never tell our mother.

Of course I had no costume, except the one I wore every day. I put a grocery bag over my head, with two holes cut out for eyes so I could see where i was going. I remember the bag kept turning, obscuring my vision. With childhood abandon, I finally threw caution to the wind, flung the bag off, and trick-or-treated as myself. The excitement was so palpable, I am certain that my feet weren't even touching the ground! Gary was a cowboy, Lowell was a robber with a ski mask on, and the neighbor, Randy, was a bandit. Afterwards, we divided up the loot at the kitchen table. The candy smokes were a big hit with the boys. I still remember that feeling of irrepressible delight at having all that candy, a rarity at our house. I was even thrilled with the apples!

I assume that our mother never found out about our trick-or-treating adventures, unless she was the one who picked up the film when it was developed. Oops. Sharon, you are my hero!