Los Gatos Weekly-Times

Those days, Trick or Treat was truly a treat

By Sue Fagalde Lick

The last Halloween I went trick-or-treating, I had reached that awkward stage where childhood merges into puberty. By volunteering to escort my neighbor, Cheryl, who was five years younger, I escaped my parents' complaints that I was too old and saved her parents from having to trudge through the neighborhood amid the pint-size, sugar-fueled ghosts and witches.

Having come up with this plan at the last minute, I didn't have much time to design a costume. I decided to be a sleepwalker. I would simply wear my nightgown, robe and fuzzy slippers, put my hair in curlers and cover my face with cold cream. I thought it was brilliant.

The only trouble was, the cold cream melted into my skin, and there was my face hanging out for all to see. "What are you supposed to be?" people kept asking.

"A sleepwalker!"

"Uh huh. Aren't you in junior high?" At least they gave me candy.

So my costume was a flop. It wasn't the first time. Halloween was always a challenge. Those store-bought costumes cost too much, especially when we outgrew them before the next Halloween. More often, Mom and I pulled together something from the closet. One year I was a gypsy, wearing Mom's long skirt and lots of scarves and earrings. Other years we put a bunch of black clothing together to make me a witch.

Some years Mom gave in and bought our costumes at Payless. I don't remember what I was supposed to be, but I can still smell the cheesy fabric and glitter and I can feel the itchy plastic mask that cut my vision by about 80 percent. I remember, too, the nights when cold weather moved Mom to require my little brother and me to wear coats over our costumes. "But Mom!" we would protest. "Then nobody will see what we're wearing."

So we put on our coats and took them off as soon as we turned the corner. We got warm running up people's sidewalks hollering, "Trick or Treat!" It was pure fun back in the early '60s out by Valley Fair, where we grew up. Nobody worried about kidnappings or muggings or apples with razor blades in them. Every house was a warm, bright way station where a smiling neighbor recognized the Fagalde kids, praised our wonderful costumes and dropped treasure into our paper bags.

Cheeks red with the cold, hearts warmed by our successful outing, we came home and dumped our loot on the floor. We counted, compared and traded--"I got three Juicyfruits. Trade you for a Snicker's."

Halloween was two shows, a matinee and an evening performance. We always wore our costumes to school on Halloween. Our teachers at Cypress School (now a senior center) knew we would be too wired to study and made it a party day. We decorated the classroom with construction-paper ghosts and witches, played games and ate orange-frosted chocolate cupcakes made by somebody's mom. After school, parades of little witches, spacemen and fairy princesses walked home bearing school books and paper pumpkins.

But Halloween night was the big event. Who could wait for dinner when, thanks to the end of daylight savings time, it was already getting dark at 5:30?

Our mother, party pooper that she was, insisted we eat dinner first. We'd bolt our food. "Come on, Dad," we'd urge as he took his time eating his meat and potatoes. "Hurry!"

Escorting the kids on Halloween night was a Dad job back in those days when most kids had two parents. Moms stayed home to hand out candy. Now, 35 years later, that's what I do. Every time the doorbell rings, I run to the door, exclaim over the wonderful costumes and give each child twice as much candy as I had planned to give.

For our first Halloween in our first house, I decorated the porch, bought enough candy to feed a starving Third World country, played spooky music and put on a costume. I dug into the cedar chest for my old "hippie" garb and answered the door in a miniskirt, floppy hat, lots of beads, and flowers painted on my cheeks.

Kids stared at me, confused. "Is that a costume? Aren't you the mom?"

Kids think they own Halloween, but we grownups know better. We can wear a costume if we want to. Or we can just dress in our usual duds and hand out whatever's on special at Costco. Either way, it's still fun, and somehow I always seem to buy enough candy to have leftovers. Tootsie Rolls of course, because they're my favorite.

Trick or Treat!

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