Origins//October 31st, 2021

 My birthday is September 8th, 1987. I am 34 years old and technically a summer baby, though I would never refer to myself as such and will argue the fact that September means autumn until I die. I’m a Virgo in every sense of the term, overly analytical, reliant on a decent plan, and borderline hostile toward other people’s disorganization. As a child, my birthday had a tendency to fall right as the school year was starting, making it almost impossible to truly look forward to.

All of these things have been true of me for my entire existence. 

And yet, I feel like I wasn’t truly born until a different day:

October 31st, 1991.

This was the first year that I would truly experience Halloween. As a baby/toddler, my mother would usually stick me in a little costume, but we never did anything celebratory. I doubt I even understood what was going on then.

But, when I turned four, I guess everyone decided I was the right age to start trick-or-treating. My Aunt Joanne gave me a pumpkin costume, a hand-me-down from her daughter, and I started being told more and more about how the holiday worked. I suppose it was somewhat of a prerequisite for the following year, when I’d be starting kindergarten. Again, I’m not sure if I fully understood the concept, but nonetheless, when October 31st rolled around, I allowed my mother to stick me in the pumpkin costume.

You might think the rest was history, but it wasn’t quite that simple. 

As the day went on, and I grew to understand Halloween a little more based on what was on TV, what my mother told me, and people I saw out the window, I became terrified. The imagery and sound effects on TV, particularly the sound of a wolf howling used on QVC, sent me into crying fits. And when the trick-or-treaters started to arrive, I couldn’t take it. I began running and hiding under this little bedside table in my parents’ room. I think, by this point, my parents were just about ready to write me off as a kid who wasn’t going to be interested in celebrating Halloween. And I guess that made sense, as I was truly the definition of a scaredy-cat at the time. I didn’t think twice about what I might be missing, all that mattered to me at the time was staying safe within my comfort zone, and the idea of Halloween was clearly making me uncomfortable.

But then, my Aunt Trish came over. Halloween was her favorite holiday, and she had no children of her own to take trick-or-treating. I idolized Aunt Trish when I was little. She was the “cool aunt” that I wanted to be just like, and often tried to emulate, from coordinating clothing color schemes, to hairstyles, favorite things, etc., so naturally, I didn’t want to let her down by admitting that I wasn’t into Halloween. We talked about it some, and eventually she offered to take me trick-or-treating, just the two of us.

As scared as I still was, I couldn’t possibly turn down the opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with the person I idolized so much, and also be out “late”, after dark. (My father was an insomniac who needed a strict bedtime schedule in order to have any shot at a decent night’s sleep, so being out past a certain hour was rare and exciting.) So, I straightened out my costume, and off we went, to a popular neighborhood about five minutes away, where the houses were more clustered together than in my own. 

I don’t know at exactly what point the exhilaration kicked in, but I very quickly forgot about being scared once I actually started to trick-or-treat. I still can’t describe exactly what I enjoyed so much about it; perhaps it was just the thrill of a new, completely different experience, combined with imagery that made me curious. The only truly distinct memory I have of that night is getting scared half to death by a man answering his door in a werewolf mask, but, despite my initial reaction, it became one of my favorite stories to tell, literally for the next entire year. Halloween, as a whole, became my favorite subject, and it wasn’t long at all before I realized that I was already counting down the days until I could experience whatever magic happened that night, all over again. I distinctly remember my disappointment when I realized that an entire year had to pass before it would happen again. 

"How long is a year?" I remember asking.

"Three hundred and sixty five days," my mother responded. It sounded like an eternity, but the countdown was on.

And now, here we are. Thirty years have gone by since that fateful night. The night I made the choice to partake in Halloween when I could have easily just let it pass me by in the interest of staying within my comfort zone. Thirty years ago today, I became me. And I don't think I will ever be more grateful for anything in my life.

There is a part of me, maybe even the biggest part of me, that will always, always be that little girl in the pumpkin costume, taking it all in, letting it soak into her very being, on Halloween night, 1991.

Stay spooky, my friends. And have the happiest of Halloweens. Never let that little trick-or-treater in you die.