When I was a child, Halloween at the Morgan household was all about balance: the yin and the yang, the tricks and the treats, the veggies and the candy.
My Mom, Bonnie, would make a big pot of homemade vegetable soup, with peas, carrots, peppers, celery, corn, string beans and lima beans, tender and succulent in the steaming golden broth. She served this thick, delicious soup with warm, raisin-filled homemade corn muffins topped with melted butter. First the soup and only then the candy. It was Bonnie’s yin and yang of Halloween. The veggies countered the sugar and gave us sustenance for the night’s journey that lay ahead.
My Dad took command of the actual trick or treating, and in some ways it did resemble a military campaign. The mission was for my brother, Michael, and me to capture a bigger candy haul than any other kid in Hackettstown, New Jersey. While Michael and I practiced our routine — eagerly knocking, enthusiasticall
Bob, a high school gym teacher and football coach, set a high standard. He taught my brother and me how to win, and how to be graceful when we lost. He taught us the value of practice, and we spent hours swimming laps or hitting balls to develop raw ability. Even now, I can watch football with an informed eye that helps me understand and appreciate and even explain the action on the field in great detail, all thanks to his tutelage. And he developed a competitive spirit within us that endures to this day.
On Halloween night, my Dad was running calculations in his head on the proximity and population density of various Hackettstown neighborhoods to maximize the candy collection offensive. We’d hit every house in one community, then jump in the car and head to the next. Once we were done there, he’d challenge us to hit just one more as we strived to beat the benchmark of the year before. By the end of the night we’d stumble home with two pillowcases chock full of sweets. I’m convinced we must still hold the Hackettstown all-time record.
Except, well, there was one year when the plans went awry. Michael, who must have been about five, was dressed as a Dalmatian puppy and for some reason that year, every time he was handed a piece of candy, he’d pop it straight into his mouth and devour it before we’d even made it to the next door. After just a few blocks, he already had a raging stomachache and our night came to an abrupt end.
These are my memories of Bonnie and Bob and Michael every Halloween. Of soup and candy and yin and yang and winning strategies. Trick or Treat!!
In Parma, Ohio, where I grew up, my parents would take turns taking me trick-or-treating so one of them could stay home to give out candy. One year, my dad reminds me, they ran out of candy and gave every kid who came to the house a dime instead. Running out of candy was serious business because no treats in those days meant Tricks were played. The kids would TP the trees (the bad kids — not me), they’d spray shaving cream on your car in the driveway, they’d even throw eggs at yours house. Tough times. In our neighborhood, almost everyone lived in a bungalow, sometimes one story, usually two, with sidewalks and “tree lawns” next to the street. The exception was the house next door, a three-story brick with a front porch, a fenced-in back yard, and at least four generations of scary-looking, mean people who would keep your ball if it went in the yard, and on Halloween that was a dark and frightening porch. I’d go with my mom or dad and John Pelleritti, my friend from across the street, and we’d dare each other to climb the stairs to that porch. When we got our goodies, we’d dash. Fast.
Most times they gave decent treats, actually.
Thanks for your story, Cindy. I’ve been thinking about trick or treat in Parma, Ohio all day, and my mom and dad and smiling.