A Halloween Treat

Happy Halloween. As a low-calorie treat, here’s a chapter from “A Cup of Tea on the Commode.” Enjoy!

Halloween, both a strange and wonderful tradition, conjures up mostly fond memories for me. Strange because the night before—Cabbage Night to us in New Jersey, Mischief Night to others—we smashed pumpkins, toilet-papered trees, shave-creamed front doors, and egged everything in sight. And yet wonderful because the next evening we returned to those same houses, in disguise, said “trick or treat,” and collected a sweet reward. Since we did no serious damage, we felt little guilt, if any.

As soon as the sun hit the horizon, we hit the streets. Armed with flashlights and pillowcases—no paper shopping bags could handle the loot we hoped to haul in—my brothers and I raced in opposite directions, gathering up goodies. We continued nonstop until the last house on the last street went dark. If anyone handed out a favorite treat, we’d make a quick costume change and return for a second helping. If our costume was a hit, people invited us in to get a better look. But who had time for chitchat? We had work to do.

At the end of the night, we dumped our loot on the living room floor to see who got the most. Michael, who was older and covered more ground, usually won. For diabetes, there were no losers. After the victory celebration ended, the trading began.

Twizzlers and Hershey bars with almonds were my favorites. A close second was Red Hots or Peanut M&M’s. PayDay, Snickers, Baby Ruth, Goobers, Necco Wafers, Smarties, Sno-Caps, and SweeTarts were always good bargaining chips. The worst was raisins. Raisins on Halloween? What’s wrong with people? They ranked down there at the bottom, along with candy corn and pennies. Nasty Mr. Tiegent—who put up a fence, blocking a public sidewalk so no one could venture near his house—always gave five pennies instead of a treat on the one day of the year he allowed us to grace his domain. We did so more out of curiosity to see what evil looked like up close, and we got our five cents’ worth every Halloween.

One year, near the end of the night, a couple of lowlifes robbed Michael of his entire bounty, leaving him unharmed but devastated. We all pitched in candy to make up for his losses, though I can’t guarantee any of my favorites made it into the charity bucket.

Mom loved Halloween. And why not? It gave her another excuse to shop. She also enjoyed greeting all the neighborhood ghosts, pirates, princesses, fairies, and superheroes. Instead of candy, she handed out sugar-free fare: potato chips, Cheetos, Fritos, and pretzels, but never the dreaded raisins.

My favorite costumes were Zorro and Frankenstein. But the cool-on-the-outside, hot-on-the-inside green rubber mask required too many breaks to mop the buckets of sweat that blurred my candy-seeking vision. So, Zorro became my go-to getup.

Those costumes came years after recovering from the psychological trauma inflicted on me by Mom. She dressed me up as the Madeline character, two years running. That costume must have been on sale, and Mom had no intention of letting it go to waste. And like Cinderella and the glass slipper—lucky me—I was the only one that adorable outfit fit. For those two Halloweens I did my best to disappear under that yellow hat, that curly red wig, and those scores of freckles. The giant yellow balloon almost made that costume worth it. Almost. That costume made me wonder if Mom really wanted a fourth girl instead of a third boy.

In high school, Halloween parties replaced trick-or-treating for most of us. Before heading out, I’d relieve Mom at the door of 247, sometimes dressed as Zorro. I greeted one kid with, “My costume’s better than yours,” and as he watched in horror, I dipped into his plastic pumpkin for my own treat. His mother, a few steps away, couldn’t help but laugh. Before the kid totally lost it, I returned his candy, added a bag of chips, and sent him on his way.

Late one night, a classmate, way too old for trick-or-treating, dressed as Superman rang our bell. My “Really?” sent his sad superhero-ass away, embarrassed and empty-handed. Sorry, fake Superman, treats are for kids.

Halloween 2012 was going to be my first at 247 Emmett Place since 1975, and I’m sure the first for Mom in many years. I had thought it was time to surprise the neighbors and remind them just how much fun the Porros were. So, I went shopping—it’s in my blood—and searched far and wide for costumes for the two of us. I settled on the ever-popular Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy. But Superstorm Sandy had its own surprise and dealt the East Coast the ultimate trick. So, I mothballed the Muppets until the next year.

On October 31, 2013, Kermit and Miss Piggy made their 247 Emmett Place debut. Mom had a ball entertaining the local kids for hours. It turned out to be her last Halloween, but she went out with a bang and a Miss Piggy hi-yah! karate chop.

To learn more about “A Cup of Tea on the Commode,” click here. To get your own copy of the multi-award-winning memoir, click here.

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