My First Trick-or-Treat
circa 1973
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
I was about 3 years old. My grandparents were watching me at their small apartment while my parents worked. My grandfather drifted away from his booze, cigs, and TV long enough to decide I should go trick-or-treating.
"He doesn't even have a costume!" my grandmother scolded.
"Well, make him one!"
After spending all day as a seamstress, Grandma didn't seem too inclined to toss a freebie little Genie's way. I didn't know what it was all about, but it interested me. I sat under the dining room table listening. The Bickersons had nothing on the grand-parental units.
"Just cut a hole in a sheet and put a paper sack on his head."
"You're not cutting a hole in any of my sheets!"
I pictured myself with my head sticking through a sheet. A puzzling image, even to this day. The thought of the paper sack kind of scared me.
"Look, just cut a hole in a sheet..."
"I'm not ruining one of my sheets just so you can go walking around in the dark."
"How about a ghost?" A rare attempted compromise from my grandfather. "That's just two little holes for the eyes." That didn't go over any better. "Alright, use a table cloth. You can set a bowl on the holes. No-one's gonna see it."
Now I pictured myself as a ghost, completely covered by a sheet, or table cloth, or -- "You've got plenty of material in there, just make something!" -- random piece of material. I wondered if I could see. How would they know where to cut the holes? Would they put the sheet over me and poke at my eyes to make the holes? Would I trip over the sheet? I didn't want to trip.
"What do you have to take him out for anyway?"
"It's Halloween. He should go."
I don't recall being asked if I wanted a part of this trick-or-treat thing. Some neuron had misfired and Pop-pop had decided. That was that. No discussion. This was going to happen, so make it happen because time is wasting.
"Okay, forget the sheet. Get something else to put over him." Pop-pop went in search of a box. When he found one, I was called out from under the table and the box placed over me. This produced unsatisfactory results. He switched tactics, modifying his original vision. "Bring me one of those sacks."
"What sacks?" If exasperation could drip from a voice as we writers claim, exasperation was puddling on the floor.
"Those paper sacks you keep next to the refrigerator."
There were always bags next to the refrigerator. The bag was fetched. Holes were cut. I was soon wearing an upside down paper grocery bag, my head and arms sticking out of oddly cut holes.
Pop-pop's face beamed. Grandma looked like she smelled something bad.
"What's he supposed to be?"
"A robot!"
I felt like day old fruit.
Outfitted with a second paper bag as a candy holder, Pop-pop and I headed out into the night. It was already completely dark. We didn't have a flashlight and streetlights were few. I don't recall seeing anyone else out. We had gotten a very late start.
Pop-pop's plan was to go up the street just north of the apartment building. In those days it was a small, suburban street lined with trees and single family homes. We skipped the apartment building directly next to my grandparent's building, turned the corner and began.
"Okay," said Pop-pop, "when the people answer the door, say 'Trick or treat.' Okay?"
I nodded.
"Try it," he said.
"Trick or treat."
He nodded.
We approached the first door. Pop-pop knocked. Rustling came from inside. After nearly a minute, a woman opened the door. She may as well have been June Cleaver.
"Trick or treat," I said.
"What are you supposed to be?" she asked, suspiciously.
"I'm a robot."
I'm sure I could feel Pop-pop smile, maybe even wink.
I held up my bag. Candy was dropped. The transaction complete, we repeated it at the next house. Pop-pop skipped houses that didn't have any lights on, which at this late hour meant we missed more than half.
Two-thirds of the way up the first side, a gruff old man answered the door.
"I don't have any candy!" he said. I lowered my bag. "Gave it all away. I'll have to go to the store and get some more. Come back later."
I looked up at Pop-pop. He wasn't smiling.
We hit the end of the street -- it was only one block long, shoehorned between two larger roads -- crossed and headed back down the other side. I kept looking back at the old man's house to see if he was leaving to go buy more candy. When we'd finished the second side, I asked Pop-pop if we weren't going back to the old man's house. He'd said he was going to buy more candy. He'd said come back.
"No," he replied. "He's not going anywhere."
That stunned me. The old man lied? Why would he lie? Why not just say he didn't have any candy? It didn't make sense to me. It even made me feel a little bad.
We headed back to the apartment so Pop-pop could spread my loot on the dining room table and check it all out.
Later that night, my mother got off work and came to pick me up. As she came through the door, I was laying on the rug, poking at my candy. It was a small haul, but a haul nonetheless.
"Tell your mother what we did!" Pop-pop said.
"I went trick or treat," I told her.
"You did?" She looked sad. "Your first trick or treat and I wasn't there? I wish I could have gone."
"See!" my grandmother interrupted, triumphant. "I told you you should wait!"
I think Pop-pop felt his own triumph. I think he disapproved of all this working and dropping of the kid. He'd made some little point about missing the important things. And I got candy. And lied to. And dragged around in a paper bag, not really sure what was going on.
But, hey, I got candy.
"He doesn't even have a costume!" my grandmother scolded.
"Well, make him one!"
After spending all day as a seamstress, Grandma didn't seem too inclined to toss a freebie little Genie's way. I didn't know what it was all about, but it interested me. I sat under the dining room table listening. The Bickersons had nothing on the grand-parental units.
"Just cut a hole in a sheet and put a paper sack on his head."
"You're not cutting a hole in any of my sheets!"
I pictured myself with my head sticking through a sheet. A puzzling image, even to this day. The thought of the paper sack kind of scared me.
"Look, just cut a hole in a sheet..."
"I'm not ruining one of my sheets just so you can go walking around in the dark."
"How about a ghost?" A rare attempted compromise from my grandfather. "That's just two little holes for the eyes." That didn't go over any better. "Alright, use a table cloth. You can set a bowl on the holes. No-one's gonna see it."
Now I pictured myself as a ghost, completely covered by a sheet, or table cloth, or -- "You've got plenty of material in there, just make something!" -- random piece of material. I wondered if I could see. How would they know where to cut the holes? Would they put the sheet over me and poke at my eyes to make the holes? Would I trip over the sheet? I didn't want to trip.
"What do you have to take him out for anyway?"
"It's Halloween. He should go."
I don't recall being asked if I wanted a part of this trick-or-treat thing. Some neuron had misfired and Pop-pop had decided. That was that. No discussion. This was going to happen, so make it happen because time is wasting.
"Okay, forget the sheet. Get something else to put over him." Pop-pop went in search of a box. When he found one, I was called out from under the table and the box placed over me. This produced unsatisfactory results. He switched tactics, modifying his original vision. "Bring me one of those sacks."
"What sacks?" If exasperation could drip from a voice as we writers claim, exasperation was puddling on the floor.
"Those paper sacks you keep next to the refrigerator."
There were always bags next to the refrigerator. The bag was fetched. Holes were cut. I was soon wearing an upside down paper grocery bag, my head and arms sticking out of oddly cut holes.
Pop-pop's face beamed. Grandma looked like she smelled something bad.
"What's he supposed to be?"
"A robot!"
I felt like day old fruit.
Outfitted with a second paper bag as a candy holder, Pop-pop and I headed out into the night. It was already completely dark. We didn't have a flashlight and streetlights were few. I don't recall seeing anyone else out. We had gotten a very late start.
Pop-pop's plan was to go up the street just north of the apartment building. In those days it was a small, suburban street lined with trees and single family homes. We skipped the apartment building directly next to my grandparent's building, turned the corner and began.
"Okay," said Pop-pop, "when the people answer the door, say 'Trick or treat.' Okay?"
I nodded.
"Try it," he said.
"Trick or treat."
He nodded.
We approached the first door. Pop-pop knocked. Rustling came from inside. After nearly a minute, a woman opened the door. She may as well have been June Cleaver.
"Trick or treat," I said.
"What are you supposed to be?" she asked, suspiciously.
"I'm a robot."
I'm sure I could feel Pop-pop smile, maybe even wink.
I held up my bag. Candy was dropped. The transaction complete, we repeated it at the next house. Pop-pop skipped houses that didn't have any lights on, which at this late hour meant we missed more than half.
Two-thirds of the way up the first side, a gruff old man answered the door.
"I don't have any candy!" he said. I lowered my bag. "Gave it all away. I'll have to go to the store and get some more. Come back later."
I looked up at Pop-pop. He wasn't smiling.
We hit the end of the street -- it was only one block long, shoehorned between two larger roads -- crossed and headed back down the other side. I kept looking back at the old man's house to see if he was leaving to go buy more candy. When we'd finished the second side, I asked Pop-pop if we weren't going back to the old man's house. He'd said he was going to buy more candy. He'd said come back.
"No," he replied. "He's not going anywhere."
That stunned me. The old man lied? Why would he lie? Why not just say he didn't have any candy? It didn't make sense to me. It even made me feel a little bad.
We headed back to the apartment so Pop-pop could spread my loot on the dining room table and check it all out.
Later that night, my mother got off work and came to pick me up. As she came through the door, I was laying on the rug, poking at my candy. It was a small haul, but a haul nonetheless.
"Tell your mother what we did!" Pop-pop said.
"I went trick or treat," I told her.
"You did?" She looked sad. "Your first trick or treat and I wasn't there? I wish I could have gone."
"See!" my grandmother interrupted, triumphant. "I told you you should wait!"
I think Pop-pop felt his own triumph. I think he disapproved of all this working and dropping of the kid. He'd made some little point about missing the important things. And I got candy. And lied to. And dragged around in a paper bag, not really sure what was going on.
But, hey, I got candy.
