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I grew up on one of those happy tree-lined west-side Vancouver streets–all stucco 1920s and 30s houses that have now been renovated and are worth 2 million dollars.  My school was just a few blocks from our house and I walked there on my own from an early age, coming home after school to ride bikes around the neighbourhood until dark, or roaming down to the park, all by ourselves.

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We had a lot of freedom then, and I don’t think we were aware of how luxurious it was.  As a mother now, I see evidence constantly that points to the fact that we live in repressive times.  Neighbours, rather than behaving neighbourly, tend to police one another from behind closed doors, reporting parents to the authorities for every perceived transgression.  A large percentage of my close friends–among the very best parents anyone will come across, I am convinced–have found themselves involved with social services, because their kids were riding their bikes on the road, or because they left their baby sleeping in the car while they used a street-level bank machine 6 feet away from the vehicle.   There seems to be an almost-gleeful gotcha urge when it comes to overseeing mothers–of course, this goes back to the constant assumption that women, and mothers especially can’t be trusted to be rational or sovereign.  Ratting out mothers has always been an age-old pastime.  Don’t get me started.

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I have always loved Halloween, because despite my relatively free-range upbringing, Halloween is a sanctioned, and much-needed reversal.  On Halloween, the play is power: the tables are turned, and instead of adults being in charge, children are the authority–scary, potent, inhabiting our inner demons, putting on our masks (or taking them off), and granted permission to jump, scream, threaten, haunt.  We were marauders, racing from house-to-house.  My parents, either mum or dad (the other would stay to hand goodies out) would always be with us, but we were in (metaphoric) control.  We were safe, but not because our parent was in attendance–that, in our minds, was symbolic only.  We were safe because we ourselves were the fear factor.

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In my family, it was positively *gauche*, and scornful, to ring the doorbell before calling “trick or treat”.  We would run up to each house, count to three in unison, and then scream “Trick Or Treat!!!!”–giddily, ghoulishly, terrifyingly.  The door would open, and we would greet our neighbour, step inside, get a glimpse into their home and how they live, submit to an assessment of our costumes, and have a little visit.  I remember the streets in our neighbourhood heaving with kids, running, hooting and hollering, and it was a rarity for even one or two houses on our street not to be lit with jackolanterns and gilded with festive decor. By the end of the night, our voices were hoarse.  After the reign of terror, we would haul the loot home, and then watch the fireworks in the street–usually there was a street party up the road with fireworks there, and we would scribble our names in the dark with sparklers, drink hot apple cider, and inhabit our temporary scary selves to the utmost.

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This year, we’re back in Queenstown, and with a 6, 4, 2 year old and a baby, I was so very much looking forward to a fabulous halloween.  Since moving back to Queenstown, we haven’t really visited with our neighbours very much at all–things have been busy, and hard, especially with Lee’s health and his upcoming surgery.  I was keen to say hi to everyone.  Also, my dad is visiting from Vancouver, so I was eager to introduce him to our neighbourhood.  We all dressed up, Horus in a black robe and angry ghost-mask, with several swords lashed to his waist.  Treva was a little-red-riding hood pirate, and Felix agreed rather reluctantly to wear a little dinosaur suit.  Cosmo was a tiger-baby, and I, of course, (what else?) was a witch.  Am a witch.  (so there).  There is one house, almost kitty-corner from us, the home of the G.’s.  They do Halloween so absolutely *beautifully*.  The whole house done up with skeletons, pumpkins, spiders, monsters.  We popped in on them, and it was delightful as usual, but it didn’t seem as though they were getting as many kids as in past years.  But as we continued down the road, the first house was dark, and then the second house too, and I noticed a sign on the third and fourth houses, that read “treats at the hall”.  We doubled back and trick-or-treated at our immediate neighbours’, and they told us that the community had decided to, instead of trick-or-treating, simply have a gathering with candy at the town hall down the road.  I was bitterly disappointed by this.  We did get one trick-or-treater at our house, the neighbour kid, a teenager, and he scared the heck out of me, and he was sweet and polite, and I’m really glad he came by.

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Halloween has never been about the candy for me, nor are treats the priority for my kids, and it saddens me that Queenstown missed the point this year…One of our neighbours apologized for not having any treats to give us, but he invited us in and handed out apples, which is just the best ever.  I like gatherings at the hall just fine, and I’d like to make it to more of them.  But in my mind, the point of Halloween is that for once, the children rule the streets again, and we stop in on our neighbours’ doorsteps, and we get to run around and make mischief where we live, door-to-door. I can’t help but think that in effect, cancelling halloween is somehow an attempt to sanitize, and for all the problems in the world, the very real problems that arise from dark, scary, aggressive places, the very last thing I think the world needs is to eliminate outlets for exploring those liminal places.  By a similar token, I wish there were more opportunities for neighbours to invite each other into our homes.   Sometimes I really worry that no one in our neighbourhood sees very much of me, except for when I’m hollering at the kids to come in, or calling the dogs back home when they go sniffing up the road to eat from someone else’s bowl.  Anyway.

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We *did* have a fabulous halloween, and even though our trick-or-treating was minimal, the fireworks that Lee put on were wonderful.  He was supposed to be in the hospital by now anyway, and although it was irritating that his surgery was postponed (because the surgeon was on holiday, apparently), it was so nice that he was able to be with us for Halloween.  He is, we all know, fully pyromaniacal, and despite his chronic pain, he slipped back into a former incarnation when given the task of setting off the fireworks, and it was such a gift and a pleasure to see him bouncing and ducking like a conductor as he set off the roman candles and little speedy squealing catherine wheels.  Horus and Treva were enthralled, and Felix clung to me murmuring “Scary mum…too scary…More fireworks daddy!”.  When the show was over, we all clapped and cheered for dad, and he gave a little bow, and was so proud and happy, and I loved him so much in that moment.

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I know this sounds insane, but I might actually try to bring my view to the town council, to encourage a traditional halloween perhaps in addition to a community party of a different sort.  It’s tricky, because we haven’t really lived in Queenstown for that long, and as one of our neighbours last night pointed out, *we* are the big family of the neighbourhood.  I’ll have to formulate a plan for how to approach everyone with this idea, without seeming pompous or presumptuous.  I’ll let you know how that goes.