Tricked and no Treat

         

Tricked and no Treat



Year after year on the night before November I would sit inside my darkened house and listen to the apparent horrors occurring just beyond the realms of my once-peaceful front yard. Year after year various ghouls, goblins, zombies, surgeons, disco dancers would pound incessantly on my front door knocker while impatiently mashing the doorbell beside it. I had not done anything that I knew of to provoke these vagrants who skulked the streets on this dreaded 31st of October, and yet ignore them as I might they always seemed to envision that I would have a sudden shift in attitude towards them; in their minds candy would magically materialize at my doormat if they could only disgrace my walkway with their high-pitched whiny presence for long enough.

         Now, it must be said that I had nothing against these otherwise-civil beings aside from what natural stigmas their haunting dispositions and constant demands to “trick” me produced. For had they ever actually harmed me or my family? Of course not. I assumed, however, that in the past some horrific event had occurred that had spawned in my guardians an enmity so fierce against these humanoid forms as to justify a rejection of all forms of communication with them without once considering that they might have some intelligent and sane aspects.  As I was not one to question my all-knowing benevolent protectors, I accepted that it was beyond my limited understanding to comprehend the exact reasoning behind their holy antipathy.

         Despite this, it should not be assumed that I was an ignorant child. I first learned of the fantastical celebration commonly known as “Halloween” through my fellow classmates in elementary school. When I was informed of the act of deception my two-headed Cerberus had performed on me by saccharinely denouncing this grand festival of cavities as “evil” and “unhealthy,” naturally it was expected of me to have a certain flame ignited from the pilot light of disappointment that had been malcontentedly burning since I had discovered this holiday. And yet, somehow my six-year-old self ascertained that although my fiery and passionate pride as a fully aware 1st grader may have been unjustly dampened by the oven mitts of protection my parents chose to smother me with, that it would be wrong for me to keep kindled a righteous fury regarding such an occasion as the night before November was. In this mindset would I sit inside my darkened house year after subservient year and listen to the apparent horrors occurring just beyond the realms of my once-peaceful front yard, as various ghouls, goblins, zombies, surgeons, disco dancers pounded incessantly on my front door knocker while impatiently mashing the doorbell beside it…