Wednesday is Halloween. I like Halloween, so today I take a break from politics along with anyone whose eye wanders over this.
While I generally do not peddle retreads, today's column is only freshened up a bit from one eight years ago. Nothing since has changed in my outlook.
I liked candy when I was a little kid. I liked horror movies on TV when I was a bigger kid. There were no VCRs or a wide selection of cable channels then. Decent horror movies showed at theaters, but that was never an option. This is the early '70s I am talking about. Guess how often my Church of Christ momma took me to see Count Yorga, Vampire or Equinox.
No, I had to sit up on Friday nights and watch whatever late-night horror movie broadcast television gave me. I watched the James Whale-directed "Frankenstein" pictures, Boris Karloff's exceptional The Mummy, Claude Rains' The Invisible Man and then the remarkably well-made (for their budget) films by Hammer Studios. Nobody could chew scenery like Peter Cushing.
Every night was Friday night when I was a kid and Halloween came near. What my dad used to call "silly movies" showed nonstop on TV.
I had an old black-and-white portable television set in my room. Most of the Halloween movies were black and white too. I would turn the contrast way up and the brightness way down so mom would not see the TV glow under the door of my room while I was supposed to be asleep. Dad could not sleep without his radio on, which was invaluable for masking screams.
To this day, I think those old horror movies that have stood the test of time define "Halloween style" for me. I am not a big fan of fake gore -- or real gore, come to think of it.
Raising my first child made me a lasting Halloween fan. It was pure joy to take her trick-or-treating. It was a lot like Christmas, only much more proactive. She had to work for that candy. One of my most vivid memories is watching her run to the next house. I had to slow her down for safety's sake.
After my first girl was older and her mom and I split up, I staged my own production as a Halloween host to trick or treaters. It was not elaborate, but set just the right mood. I had my first good stereo system and a bunch of CDs that included "Night on Bald Mountain" and Bach organ music. My apartment was all set that first time.
It rained torrents, hanging like a gray sheet in front of my door.
I was amused rather than upset at the irony, though. After all, there was always next year. Then, long after dark and during a short break in the downpour, I happened to get up from whatever scary movie I was watching and look out my front window. Some girl in her early teens was walking up the sidewalk. Mine was the only apartment with a light on in the whole building. As I recall, she did not even have an umbrella. She came straight to my door, rang the bell and then said "trick or treat" as the door opened. She was wearing her jeans and a pink and white pullover sweater instead of a costume, probably on account of the awful weather. I had never seen her before.
I gave the girl my whole candy bucket's load and an extra, unopened bag of the treats. To the victor go the spoils. Victory rewards persistence more often than talent.
Much later on, there was the Halloween when all our kids got sick and the car's battery died in the same night. Then there was the year after that, when it was so cold the kids begged to go home.
Now my kids are older. They go to parties with friends. They can watch, within reason, any scary movie they want anytime they want. These are good things. But the thing I miss most about going trick-or-treating -- either as a kid or with my kids -- was how the ones who worked hardest had the most fun and reaped the biggest candy haul.
Someone's daddy might buy his kid a better costume than yours, but what counts is how many doorbells you ring and people you meet. Now there is something you cannot say about Christmas.
Commentary on 10/27/2018