Halloween: EEEEvil or Happy American Tradition?

Every year I debate my husband on the merits of Halloween.  He says it's a destructive excuse to get drunk, and teaches kids to beg.  I say it's family fun and brings communities together.

And I don't think the truth lies "somewhere in the middle:"  Halloween is definitely a positive thing.

From an financial standpoint alone, it's a shot in the arm to a tired economy--administered painlessly.  Seventy percent of Americans report they'll give out candy; half of the populace says they'll even decorate their home or yard, according to an annual survey by the National Retail Federation.  The 148 million of us who celebrate Halloween will spend $5.8 billion this year, with families cheerfully parting with an average $23 for costumes, $20 for candy and $19 for decorations.

Even supposedly selfish trick-or-treating can be for the good.  The owner of a candy company called into the radio show and said he lets kids trade in their less desirable loot, gives them their choice of what he makes, and then donates the take to our soldiers overseas.  A neighborhood where I live asks trick-or-treaters to bring canned goods for the local food bank.  Myriad parents trailing their eager little ones--including me when my kids were younger--take the opportunity to re-connect with neighbors, building community cohesion.

Those stories about nefarious householders lacing candy with poison and razor blades?  Never happened. At least two national articles this season cite the study proving it, arguing for less parental fear and more joy in the holiday.

Maybe in the 1940s things got nasty, with mean teens inventing the "trick or treat" theme, but by the '50s, the term became a single syllable little kids intone with a smile, as willing homeowners offer their individually-wrapped sweets.

Critics say Halloween has pagan beginnings, and the truth is, nobody really knows its origins.  Some claim it derived from the Roman festival for Pamona, a goddess of fruits and seeds; others insist it was a different Roman fest, "Feralia." Some trace it to a Celtic holiday, Samhain, that noted the coming of the darker part of the year, and was occasion to honor dead relatives.  In the 800s, Pope Boniface IV decreed November 1 as a day to honor martyrs, All Hallows Day, hence, All Hallows Eve.

In any case, there was no Halloween in America until the 1800s, when Irish immigrants started coming en masse, and it wasn't much at that.  Celebration only picked up speed in the 20th Century, and then only in its latter half, when boomer kids enjoyed little parties and neighbors started leaving their porch lights on and carving pumpkins into faces.

What would school classrooms look like in the fall without the Halloween decor of jack-o-lanterns and black cats?  Even the scarier symbols of skeletons and ghosts don't faze kids--most elementary schools have to warn them not to wear gory costumes, because otherwise fifth-grade boys want to.

Costumes are a creative, positive aspect of the holiday.  Making or buying them becomes a parent-and-child bonding activity.  It teaches kids that reality may be different from appearances, a subtle but useful lesson. And it gives kids an opportunity to indulge their imaginations, to become characters or change their looks beyond their normal selves.

This year, the top children's costume is--the same as the last six years--princess.  Next is Spider-Man, followed by witch (not Christine O'Donnell), pirate, Disney Princess, and "super-hero."  Doesn't sound so scary to me.

I had a great time surfing the web to find internet meme costumes.  Sad Keano is a tough one to duplicate, unless you're not planning on moving off a bench for the whole evening.  The Double Rainbow guy, however, is a possibility (see photo above).  My favorite is The Panda (you can't say no to Panda) because it's do-able and the cheese commercials are so hilarious.  Apparently there's a list of costumes people least want to see--with Sarah Palin the winner.  Personally, I think I'd be most frightened if Nancy Pelosi came to my door seeking a handout.

In any case, it's a beautiful day here in the Northwest. I'm going to go carve our pumpkin, look through our bags of costumes, and put our little packs of m-and-ms out on a tray.  If that's not your style, that's just fine--nobody has to celebrate, and any way you choose (or not) to acknowledge Halloween, from church harvest parties to herding the little ones to candy-proffering merchants at the mall, fits into the American tradition.  And of course, if you're a real curmudgeon, you can just turn off the porch light and go to bed.

Mario and Princess Peach? Or--how to dress for Purim?

The Jewish holiday of Purim is fast approaching, and I'm scrambling to find costumes for my husband and me.

To be honest, my husband, the curmudgeon, eschews costumes, which are much more than mere folly on this most joyous and raucous of Jewish festivals. Purim celebrates the events described in the Book of Esther--when Persia's King Ahashverosh was persuaded by Queen Esther, a Jew taken to the royal harem against her will, to nullify evil minister Haman's genocidal decree. This is the one scripture where God's name is never mentioned (except in code), which exemplifies the theme of the holiday--the hidden nature of God. In that vein, we wear costumes to hide our external identities, and imbibe alcohol so we internalize the confusion of reality with appearances.

So my husband's reluctance to dress up represents more than mere laziness or embarrassment--it's a small rebellion. Especially when I go to the trouble of creating a costume for him. In the past, he's been more amenable--one notable year when I was about to give birth to our second daughter, I made Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head costumes from burlap bags, cutting out and drawing enormous features from posterboard, and buying him a silly plastic bowler hat. Another year I made us both Zorro costumes; I got t-shirts and bandannas from the Army surplus store when we were bikers. The shirts were black, and read, "Kill 'em all; let God sort 'em out" (I think it was). Somebody asked if he was in the so-and-so military unit, which apparently used that logo.

But for many years now, he won't dress up at all. I go all out, 'natch, looking completely ridiculous in my half yellow-half red jester costume with matching dual-pointed and pom-pom'd hat (I paint my face half red, half yellow, of course). A couple years ago when it was pertinent, I was Martha Stewart, with my apron and toque over a striped prison uniform, ankle bracelet dangling. When Disney was the theme of a Purim seuda we attended (the luncheon that is one of the four Purim mitzvot, ie commandments), I came as Minnie Mouse, with red, white and black polka dot skirt, proper ears with bow, whiskers and tail.

So Purim has quickly returned and once again, I'm faced with the costume dilemma. But yesterday, my daughter texted me with the message, "All my friends decided that (my husband) has to go as Mario, and you should be Princess Peach!" Her friends, evidently, agreed that my husband looks like Mario, with his dark mustache. I know nothing about the Super Mario games, but thanks to Google, I found that all I need to be Princess Peach Toadstool is a poufy pink dress and a tiara.

But after clicking through 158 pages of costumes online, all I found was a too-short, flirty version of Princess Peach, a polyEsther (couldn't resist) number for about $50. I've never bought a costume before and certainly won't (and all my previous home-made attempts fill three huge bags of assorted garb and props). I don't own a pink poufy dress, alas. What to do? Purim's next Monday night and Tuesday! Ideas?