Simpler times

It’s funny how the way you experience a holiday when you’re young is different than how you experience it later in life, like how Halloween takes on different meanings for different age groups.

When you were in elementary school Halloween was something special. All day you and your classmates would parade around in your costumes doing Halloween-themed activities, like going through the haunted house that the fifth graders built for the younger kids or watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.

Once you turn 18, though, the alternate adult meaning of Halloween becomes apparent. Once you turn 18 you realize that Halloween is the one day each year when all your weird porn fetishes come to life and roam the streets. Girls 18 to 25 years old dress in skimpy “Halloween costumes” and go clubbing downtown — its more a lingere show than a spooky evening.

I don’t know which of these two Halloweens I prefer. Actually, I do; it’s the first one.

In elementary school, Halloween had that atmosphere. Those early Halloweens were the first few times you got to dress up and go trick-or-treating, and those days were just amazing. I mean, not as good as your childhood Christmas morning, but hey, I’d be hard pressed to believe there’s anything in life better than a childhood Christmas morning.

These days, all Halloween has going for it is booze and women in flattering clothing. And while both of these things have the potential to make for a fantastic night, they’re also both available on an average Friday night if you enjoy going out. Some people have clever costumes, but most people just wear silly colours and funny hats and say that they’re Snooki or something.
Now, I don’t know who or what a “Snooki” is, but I know I’m probably happier not knowing what that something is. I also know it’s not something I would have gone dressed as for Halloween when I was a kid.

When I was a kid, I went as a cardboard box for Halloween. Actually, I was a robot. I was both, at the same time. Shit like that was awesome. We made our own costumes. One year I was the blue Power Ranger, and my dad made me my costume. You couldn’t have bought a better blue Power Ranger outfit from the store.

I remember back then when people dressed as Barbie or Batman. Some were dressed as witches or wizards. Me? I was either a cardboard box-robot or the Blue Power Ranger, and everyone else was jealous.

I miss things like that — when we were innocent and Halloween wasn’t about getting drunk, going to the club and going home with the scantily clad woman dressed either as a cat or as a zebra. I miss the days when all we wanted out of the night was to have a sweet costume and bring home half our weight in candy. And when you’d finished pillaging the neighbourhood for another year, you would go home and dump your pillow-sack out onto the floor in front of the television — developing life-long dental problems while watching the newest Simpsons “Treehouse of Horror” episode.

I guess what I’m really trying to say here is I think more people should go as cardboard boxes this Halloween.