Paying it back

For years, I've avoided the trick-or-treat brigade on Halloween night, and felt vaguely guilty about it. On Tuesday I decided to do the right thing and hand out treats at the door.

I don't have skeletons, pumpkins or any other signals of Halloween to put on display. But I found this little lamp that looked suitably mysterious when lit with a flickering candle and placed in the front window.

It was a miracle, when I was a kid, that you could knock on a stranger's door one night of the year and they would open it into the brightness beyond, and give you candy. Sometimes they tried to guess who you were (it was small-town Alberta) before they brought out the goodie dish, and in a few horrible instances they demanded a song or a recitation in return for their largesse. But mostly they just smiled at our home-made costumes and generously doled out the treats.

I haven't returned the favour. Because I never had my own kids, because I usually worked nights, because I know candy isn't good for anyone anyway, I never made a practice of handing out treats at my own door. For many years, I had the airtight excuse that I was working. Then one year I tried it and was appalled at how quickly the first run of cute kids in costumes turned into large teenagers in street clothes on the prowl for free sugar. Usually on Halloween, I turn out the upstairs lights and go downstairs to read.

But it always feels. . . just a little not right. Adults had opened their doors to me; in the scheme of things, I should be returning the favour. So on Tuesday I bought a box of mini-chocolate treats (the kind I would have wanted as a kid; none of those hard sugar candies or gummy fruity things), raked the leaves off the walk and turned on the porch light.

 About 12 kids in our child-starved neighbourhood showed up -- mostly smaller ones, mostly in costume. They were all delightful, with their fresh faces and polite thank-yous and greater or lesser attempts at costumes. But for me, the greatest charge was their excitement. It was a reminder of how it felt all those years ago to approach a stranger's door in the dark of night and do the forbidden: knock and ask for candy.

What kids would have seen as they climbed the steps to demand their treats. Unfortunately, there are so few families in the neighbourhood now that there aren't many children to make the rounds. Which meant lots of leftover treats . . . 

. .  .which I've bagged up for the freezer. It will be my emergency supply of sugar hits for the winter.