Halloween generally brings back fond memories.  This year triggered all sorts of them.  My older kids toured the community in which I live largely via car as we went from neighborhood to neighborhood having a few yuks with friends.  

My youngest, 11, experienced Halloween in a very rural community that had citizens donate candy to the school.  The town then redistributed the candy to citizens on Main Street.  On Halloween the police would perch at either end with blue lights flashing as kids went up and down the Main Street, thereby maximizing their haul-per-step ratio not possible in the outlying areas.  We learned this the first year when not one child came to our door, and several local neighbors called to ask when our daughter was coming by as they had bought a candy bar -- one candy bar -- to have for her.

This Halloween she and I were both excited to be in one of 75 townhouse units in the community where my older children had had their experiences.  Her excitement came from maximized candy haulage.  Mine was mixed with trepidation and fear as to how much to acquire so as to not run out and wind up being harassed by local miscreants through car egging and other indignities.

For weeks we planned this.  Each trip to the store had me picking up an extra bag or two.  She bought her costume, and I picked up a $3 hockey mask to get ready at the door.

About 5 minutes before game time, with the bowl ready and reserve candy bags nearby, I got the bright idea of dragging my reproduction cigar store Indian out onto the stoop for added effect.

(Yes, the mat says "Go Away," it's part of my charm.)

The Indian was a great hit.  The mask, not so much, as a few of the young ones were a little put off by it, and hence it wound up atop my head like I remember from my days as a real hockey goalie when resting between periods or after having been pummeled by shots in practice.

Observations from handing out nine bags of candy in two hours were many.   Seeing little kids and hovering families brought back many fond memories of the 6 foot-plus teen boys off doing their own things now.  The breathless running, the toddling steps, the flashlights, the strollers were all remembered fondly.

Far and away the best image was this little kid in a Tickle-me-Elmo costume.  He was transported around by a young, interracial couple and was clearly their only child.  Mom pushed a portable stroller.  When she got to the curb, she would put the front wheels up on top of it and then lift the back of it the way the Ads on geezer channels airing reruns of Murder She Wrote and Law and Order show elders getting out of special recliners.  The kid toddled up ever hesitantly, struggled up the step and then two fisted the candy bowl.  Assuming the bag weighed as much as he did, I grabbed his elbow as he headed back down.  From there he toddled to the stroller, turned around, waited for mom to lift the stroller til it hit his diapered behind, and then sat, waiting to be wheeled to the next candy machine.

That kid is going to absolutely LOVE Halloween for the rest of his life.

Halfway through I began worrying about running out.  Being a development, it is an easy mark for older kids.  I had many, needling discussions with these kids.  "For crying out loud, you are shaving.  Did you drive yourself here?  If I have a 4-year-old crying on my steps because I ran out, I am going to hunt you down and kill you.  Get a job, buddy."

Some of the older ones I had try to catch the candy in their bags as an agility test.  If they caught it, they would get a second.  They dropped it, and they had to give it back.  (I would let them keep it, if they choked on the catch.)

I was startled by the attire of some older girls who came by.  Pick all the lurid fantasy costumes, and these girls had them.  One was a nurse, for example.  Her parents had a little common sense and put a lab coat on her.  

Another was in a witch outfit with fishnet stockings.  Fishnet stockings.  She made Elvira look like a repressed, 1880s spinster school teacher.

These girls took me aback, as I was sitting on the stoop next to the Indian, such that when I looked up to talk to them, I was not staring at them eye-to-eye, as it were.  It made me rather uncomfortable, prompting me to stand up.  I was thankful my 11-year-old was out in a ghoul outfit while biting the inside of my lip wondering what might be a desired costume in a few years.

Near the end came a rather harried mother with a toddler serving as dead weight on her shoulder.  As the other kids in tow raced off ahead as she implored them to stick around, I asked if the half asleep one in her arms wanted some candy and was informed he was allergic and could not.

After some quizzing, I was able to discern that Craisins (a great food, by the way) would be acceptable.  I scurried into the house where I have a box of 100 calorie packs for school lunches and came back with two for the kid.  He headed out of sight clutching them in his hands while his head bobbed against his mother's shoulder. 

The Indian made the night.  It interested parents, and gave the kids a slight edge of trepidation easily ameliorated.  He even was photographed a few times.  It also gave me the chance to take mental photographs of various little kids with their breathless excitement and innocence running around or the chance to goof on the older ones a little bit before relenting and tossing them a couple candy bars.

Tough to say who had more fun.