Halloween (or I rather say the trouble with Halloween)

One of my greatest disappointments as a child was not having been born in America. I knew form my library, that they had a great deal of fun over there. They had Disneyland on their doorstep and perhaps more importantly, they celebrated Halloween.
Exactly what Halloween meant, the books never really explained: I knew its origins were Irish, but little more. However, this element of mystery added to the excitement.
This sensation was aroused by tales of ghosts, skeletons, dressing up, doing clever thing with exotic vegetables (I had never seen pumpkin) and annoying grumpy old neighbours. It just had to be fun.
Twenty years on Halloween is almost as important in Poland as New Year’s Eve or Christmas Day. Considering my love of America and its traditions as a child, I suppose I should see this development as a cause for rejoicing. However, I have recently had cause to wonder whether Halloween is such a good thing after all and I now view the whole thing with deep suspicion.
This change of attitude occurred last November, when I spent my first Halloween with my friend’s son, James. At first it all seemed quite enjoyable. The pumpkin was overpriced, but I had never made a death’s head mask before and I found it very satisfying cutting out the teeth shapes in its mouth.
Indeed, I enjoyed it so much I didn’t want to stop. This led to a disagreement between James and myself as to how much of the pumpkin each of us should be allowed to carve. The disagreement turned into a heated argument and James left the scene in a raging temper.
Worse was to follow. While I made pumpkin soup in the kitchen I heard shrieks of protest form the sitting room. James wanted to go trick-or-treating. His mother thought he was too young.
Feeling a bit of killjoy after the pumpkin incident, I decided to act as a mediator. Yes, he could go, I decreed, provided he went with a group of friends.
Now it was his mother turn to get upset. It just wasn’t safe for the boy to go knocking on strange people’s doors on a dark, foggy November night.
This problem was resolved when a neighbouring parent agreed to escort the trick-or-treat party on their rounds. But by then, there had been another row. ‘No way!’ I shouted. ‘No way am I going to let you cut holes in a perfectly good sheet jut to make a ghost costume which will only be used for ten minutes!’. Only after being assured that it was partly made of polyester did I give in.
It all seemed worthwhile when James returned from his expedition clutching an impressive quantity of sweets and fruit. At least he would spend his pocket money on something other than chocolate for the next few weekends.
James had other ideas. He intended to eat them all immediately. And so began another argument which might have gone on until bedtime if we had not been rescued by the arrival of numerous other trick-or-treaters.
However, our supply of tangerines had run out. There was only one thing for it: we would have to dip into James’s sweet collection. Needless to say, it ended in tears.
They have of course dried up now, but they left their mark and a feeling that Halloween may be more trouble than it is worth.