Happy Halloween (late)

Here is another beauty from my good friend, Joel. While pleased with his contribution, I was a bit surprised that he chose to write a post about Halloween, considering several years ago, Joel eliminated nearly all refined sugar from his diet. This was no easy task for Joel because I know that there was a point in his life where he could eat his weight in Kit Kat bars. I think a small part of his heart still yearns for one final chocolaty wafer of pure goodness. 

PS: Sorry this post is so late. My intention was to have it up on or before Halloween but I have been dealing with some insurance company BS that was very stressful and annoying but is too long of a story for you to read and/or care about. I will tell you this though: Insurance companies can go eat a bowl of...well, I won't finish that sentence but it ain't festive snack-size candy bars, I'll tell you that much.

A Halloween Gift
by Joel Daniel

Preface: Heather, curator of I Love Tongs, asked me to write a guest blog last year about Hanukah (I think because I am the only Jew she knows). I agreed, but, unfortunately, found myself with a case of writers block. With this post, I am hoping my block is lifted and I can contribute a piece for each of the remaining secular and Jewish holidays that remain for 2012. Here is to Halloween. L’chaim.

As Halloween approaches, nostalgia and warm feelings consume me. Halloween is the greatest holiday, and not for the reasons most people think.¹ It is the giving. Sometimes it is the gift of laughter or amazement in looking at a clever costume; other times lust and a fantasy fixation for the remainder of the year; still other times a kiss with a stranger that dressed like a Klingon at a bar you can only vaguely remember how you got to. Obviously, there are gifts of candy to local children,² and finally there are gifts between neighbors and good citizens that did not know they had anything to give to begin with. I want to discuss one such occasion.

I grew up in what many would describe as an idyllic town in California’s great Central Valley. It has its fair share of rednecks, meth labs and crank addicts, but it also has quaint neighborhoods where neighbors know each other’s names and probably what they ate for breakfast.

My best friend lived in one of these neighborhoods, and he had these neighbors; by proxy, I had these neighbors. One of my friend’s neighbors (I will refer to them as the “Cleavers”) were the kind of people that elaborately decorate their house for every holiday, paying close attention to those having something to do with old J.C.: rabbits, baby Jeezey, fancy lights, etc. Another neighbor (I will refer to them as the “Bundys”) did not, at least judging by their outdoor décor, relish in the holidays.³ Importantly, the Cleavers had to pass the Bundys' house to reach their own, but because the street ended in a cul-de-sac, the reverse was not true.

When I was thirteen, and dealing with the confusion of hair sprouting from unfamiliar places, and the alienation that comes from being a teenager, my friend and I decided to take a break from scheming ways to look at the adult magazine section of the local liquor store to do a neighborly deed. It started with a ceramic pumpkin shaped candleholder residing on the Cleavers' porch – adjacent to the naked porch of the Bundys'. On the day inspiration struck, we were headed to Thrifty’s for some ice cream on some rad BMX bicycles. Upon seeing the pumpkin, a question was posed: “I wonder what we could do with that?” As nice as the pumpkin looked, it was apparent it probably had a different and better life in store. A plan formulated on our little ice cream jaunt. At the store we purchased a Hallmark-style greeting card (along with the double fudge chunk we had set out for), walked across the street, and liberated a box from the dumpster of the shoe store.

With box, card, and ice cream dripping in hand, we rode back to the “hood” and waited patiently for dark.⁴ Under the cover of clouds and darkness, we made our way to the bushes outside the Cleavers' house. When the light of their porch was turned off for the night,⁵ we took the pumpkin and placed it in our box. We sealed the box, and waited another hour until the light on the Bundys' porch went out. We placed the box on their porch wrapped neatly with a bow—found in my friend’s mother’s gift-wrapping drawer—and the card, on which we inscribed:

“To: the Bundys.
From: the Cleavers.
From our house to yours
Happy Halloween Neighbors!”

We patted ourselves gently on each other’s respective backs and went to bed.⁶

The following morning, we woke, dressed, ate a Girl Scout cookie, and climbed atop our BMXs to ride. We saw the same thing the Cleavers would see day after day (during the fall season), year after year: a⁷ ceramic pumpkin candleholder sitting on the Bundys' porch. This is the meaning of Halloween. Tricks and Treats. The warmness that comes from sharing with neighbors – even things the neighborhood may not have realized were available to share. Happy Halloween.

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1. i.e. Boys dress like girls, and girls dress like they are auditioning to be showgirls.
2. And A-hole teenagers that just can’t let this tradition go. 
3. Oddly, one year they put up blue and white lights at Christmas. They probably bought them on clearance from the grocery store not realizing these were Israel’s colors (my town was not a bastion for Jewish people), and probably thought why not dip into holiday decorating cheaply to see how it felt. Regardless, it brought a twinkle to my eye.
4. Most likely we played Legend of Zelda, and ate Girl Scout cookies out of his parents' freezer.
5. At 10 p.m., as every night, like a well-functioning digestive system.
6. We probably played more Zelda and ate more cookies first.
7. (their)