Snoopys – our senses dulled by the shifting eye-holes, the sound of our labored breathing and the binding layers of sweatshirts we piled on to keep out the chilly Michigan weather. House after house, block after block, we scouted out neighbors who gave the best chocolates and candies and coins. But what we were really hunting for were gift certificates to the local Bob’s Big Boy. We knew if we scored those we’d be eating like kings after school all winter long.

Sadly, my little girl knows nothing about that kind of Halloween excitement. Wonder Woman and Witches have been replaced by Disney’s Anna and Elsa. Trick-or-treating starts mid-day and is over by dusk. There is not one other school-aged kid on our block to run with – not that I would let her past the front lawn without me – and any playdate she may have is a carefully choreographed affair.

Each of her 7 of pasteurized Halloweens have consisted of parading around my workplace or running through parent-decorated parking lots in search of health-conscious items like flashlights and toothbrushes. Last year she literally cried because she was forced to walk down to our neighbor’s house to pick up a waiting gift bag, and pointed out how ridiculous it was to beg for candy when we had a bowlful at home ripe for the picking. She does, however, know about creepy clowns, school lockdowns and the ramifications of this year’s Presidential election, which is enough to scare the hell out of anyone. So perhaps it’s better to keep her safe at home for as long as I can.

This year her uncles – expert chefs and party planners – are throwing her a Halloween soiree that could rival a wedding. I simply wanted her to have the same fond memories of Halloween that I do. But somehow I think spinning Madonna, sewing her own Rosanne costume and learning every move to Michael Jackson’s Thriller will be more memorable than anything I could have ever dreamed.

The Ghost of Halloweens Past 

October 27, 2016

by Cynthia Gunnells

In the early 1980s when I was a kid, Halloween was a big deal. There were no school parties. Children didn’t trick-or-treat in malls. Trunk-or-treat events were still unheard of and no one dared go out before dinner – we waited until dark.

My little brother and I, along with the two-dozen kids on our suburban Detroit street, formed a gang of ghouls and hit the pavement together in a quest to see who could fill our pillowcase sacks first. I vaguely remember a miscellaneous parent or two walking with us but, mostly, they were taking advantage of the couple of hours they had to themselves, smoking Marlboros and shooting the breeze.

Donned in the latest plastic-masked-costumes, we trotted door-to-door in a line of little Raggedy Anns, Casper-the-Friendly Ghosts and