Halloween

Friday Oct. 31, 2014

Halloween. 

I grew up in a large eastern city, in a working class neighbourhood where everyone lived in apartment blocks—some might have called them tenements—or fourplexes.  None of my friends lived in houses with lawns and garages and their own side walk.  The nearest park to my home was right blocks away, so we played in the lanes and on the grounds of the mental hospital at the end of the street.

We did this sans parents or babysitters or guardians.  By the time we were 6, the routine on Saturdays during the school year and every day in summers was to be out the front door by 9 and not return until lunch or dinner.  We played endless games of cowboys and Indians, and stando, and horse, all impromptu, all without adult supervision or intervention.  We entertained ourselves ourselves.  No one felt the need to organize our time or our activities, and no one worried about us coming to harm—beyond the odd skinned knee or chipped tooth.

On Halloween, from the age of 6, all the kids in the neighbourhood tricked and treated with their friends.  My memories of those times are filled with images of streets filled with children dancing around and singing or shouting, and consulting about which homes had the best treats.  Candy apples were especially coveted, and no one bothered to check them for razor blades.  And there were no adults.  Parents didn’t feel the need to hover over their children, and if the child was not old enough to go out alone, then an older brother or sister or cousin was recruited to let their younger sibling tag along on their candy search.

Amazingly, a similar scenario played out here in Midden Harbour tonight.  There were some parents out with their kids, but very few.  I find that strangely heartwarming; a confirmation of the value of small town life.  Places like this have retained so much of what we used to see as the hallmarks of our society.  We don’t have a Starbucks or an Apple store or a Montessori school, but we do have a community.