Yep, it’s here again – the holiday that just won’t go away. Halloween! I’m trying to be a good sport about it, boys and girls, but, except for the Snickers Bars, Almond Joys and M&Ms, I wouldn’t miss it if the holiday got “ghosted” from my calendar.

With a dentist in our family, I should try to be more supportive. One fourth of all candy sold in the United States is sold during October, so I know that the resulting tooth decay is surely preventing several members of my treasured family from facing lives of poverty and destitution and needing to take the bus to work. (On a personal note, I should perhaps mention that as a candy addict myself, I may have, on occasion, personally contributed to the dental caries of certain small persons of my acquaintance through encouraging the consumption of a multitude of Jello Pudding Pops, Jolly Ranchers, gumdrops, and, of course, in later years, Costco’s Macadamia Nut Clusters.)

Besides tooth decay though, I have other inbred issues with Halloween.

The first of these involved some kind of a believe-it-or-not Gorman family legend. Halloween wasn’t even observed till 1920, but a relevant story had always been hinted at in the family that probably happened a little earlier than that. Whenever the story was mentioned, nobody would elaborate on it, but in spite of the smirks and winks and eye rolls, it was pretty clear that the tale wasn’t going to quietly fade away into oblivion.

One Halloween night, my youngest uncle, Ed Gorman, was visiting. He and my Dad may have had a couple of beers earlier which might account for what followed. “Hey, kids”, said Uncle Ed, grinning from ear-to-ear. ”Wanna hear a story for Halloween?” Well, who wouldn’t?

.

.I was too little to remember all the gory details, but the gist was that one stormy night, my Irish Grandpa Jim Gorman was slogging home across the field to get to his farmhouse. Suddenly, he heard the thudding of horses hooves, and in the wind and rain and lightning flashes, he saw a horseman galloping past. Apparently, on seeing Grandpa, the horseman skidded to a stop, and then, in the next flash of lightning, Grandpa got a closer look at the guy. And he was headless. Toting his head under his arm.

After that, Grandpa either fainted from shock (or possibly passed out as the result of too much Irish whisky), but when he came to, the Ichabod Crane-like headless horseman had disappeared. But not from family legend, where he was to remain in living color for years after.

That night, and perhaps for several nights after Uncle Ed’s thrilling (and graphic) story, I probably wet the bed, That was my first rather formidable introduction to the thrills and chills of the Halloween holiday. For some time after, I had a kind of terrorized impression of the human anatomy. I had once seen my Aunt Mary kill a chicken on their farm to roast for Sunday dinner, and if you’ve ever seen a chicken running around with its head cut off, you know where I’m going with this. If a chicken can do it . . . …

The next incident happened during a party at our house. My sister Joan and some of her little girlfriends were wearing Halloween costumes, and I remember Joan was outraged that mother let me stay in the corner to watch the jolly festivities. Everything in my view was dazzling. Until it wasn’t.

One of the partygoers was wearing a witch’s costume. She had on a stringy cotton wig, dyed green, and she was carrying a small pumpkin with a lighted candle inside. All of a sudden, the wig caught on fire! What followed was like watching Squid Game – only all the participants were small urchins. Somehow, my mother and our hired girl, Georgia, got the blaze out before the fire cooked our little guest, and somehow, the festivities resumed, but you can understand that as far back as I can remember, that was the only party ever held at my house during my childhood. And it was the only Halloween party I ever ”attended”. Then, or since.

Of course, when our children were growing up, I was fully engaged in cranking out the costumes and decor needed to prove that, yes, the Ford Horde was just as bloodthirsty and gruesome as our neighbors in celebrating National Tooth Decay Day.

In our neighborhood on Capitol Hill in Seattle, Halloween costumes were usually homemade, but no kid ever had to wear the same costume two years in a row. Each costume just got handed down to the next pup in the litter. One year though, I dressed all seven of the little persons like a deck of cards. It was very entertaining the first year, but the youngest victims – especially Gretchen, Teresa, and Judy – had to keep taking turns the following years shuffling the cards, so to speak, appearing as either the Ace of clubs, the 9 of hearts, the Jack of diamonds, etc. – you get the idea. One thing kids in big families catch onto early on is that, no, indeed, life is not fair. And they really learned that, for sure, one rainy Halloween night in Seattle.

I think it was the Halloween of 1968. In those days, the parents usually didn’t accompany the kids when they went trick-or-treating. Instead, marching house-to-house, block after block were little mobs of ghosts, witches, gangsters, princesses, fairies, ghouls, goblins, and, of course, a few playing cards, each clutching the little bag awaiting the candy treasures and the sugar high to come.

I was busy answering the doorbell and handing out treats at the front door, when suddenly, Susy, Gretchen, Teresa and Judy came dragging into the house – teary-eyed and empty-handed. “Some big kids took all our candy”, they sobbed. And when Mark, Matthew and Lisa got home, they had also been robbed of all their swag. It wasn’t a Whoopie! Halloween for sure – forking over their candy to some meanie ugly grinches who’d be deserving of every one of the future cavities they’d be getting!

All of the above is meant explain why Halloween isn’t my favorite holiday. In spite of my aversion though, I still manage to harbor an unhealthy interest in Halloween costumes. I never owned, borrowed or ever wore one, but the lengths to which other folks – especially the adults – will go to to “dress up” for the occasion always captivates my attention. As a dedicated home seamstress, I was accustomed to wearing funny looking clothes, but one should draw the line somewhere!

One of the reasons Halloween is the second highest grossing holiday – second only to Christmas – is probably due to the expense of all the sartorial finery purchased in order for its wearers to step out in the most fashionable ghoulish splendor, no matter how demeaning.

Be careful where you show up wearing any of these high fashion outfits. If at work, any one of them might possibly reduce your chances of getting promoted to the Supreme Court or the position of Next-Executive-To-Be-Indicted-for Racketeering, or Vice president of Plumbing or the CEO of Feminine Hygiene.

• 

• 

• 

On the other hand, if you’re trying to get out of serving on the PTA talent show ticket-selling committee, by all means show up in one of these fashion-forward ensembles.

• 

• 

• 

Or to tug on everybody’s heartstrings, maybe you could appear as this heartbroken lost doggy owner. Judging by the size of the hips, if she hadn’t already sat on the puppy, maybe she ate him.

Here’s my advice: the best way to preserve your dignity when you go to the Halloween party – in case there ever is one again – is to stay home. Or else, borrow Harry Potter’s Cloak of Invisibility. As for me, I’m going to buy one of these masks. I don’t think anybody will recognize me. They’ll know it can’t be me, because I quit smoking years ago!