There are certain books that I simply refuse to part with. Some have been moving around with me for years. Others were favourites of my children when they were small and the stories inside were too deeply loved to ever let them go. Arthur's Halloween falls into this latter category.
For anyone unfamiliar with Marc Brown's Arthur stories, they tell of the adventures of Arthur the Aardvark and his assorted animal friends. None of which appear particularly animal-like. Especially in the television version.
One scene in this book always interested me because it seemed to be a throwback to an earlier, simpler time. In it, Arthur's sister, DW, boldly goes trick-or-treating alone to the spooky old house that everyone else is too terrified to approach. Arthur and his friends watch in fear and wait for her to return. When she doesn't return, Arthur enters the house and finds his sister sitting contentedly in the kitchen enjoying juice and cookies with a lovely old lady. Having discovered that visiting with neighbours over homemade treats is far preferable to running from house to house for candy. It's a lovely story. Charming. Sweet. Totally unrealistic.
First, trick-or-treating children have been carefully instructed and conditioned to never enter the homes of random neighbours. Second, they wouldn't want to. The trick-or-treaters in my neighbourhood are moving so quickly in their quest to amass as much Halloween loot as possible within a relatively narrow time frame that their costumes are often a blur to me. They're off before the treats hit the bottom of the bag. Stopping for juice and cookies and a neighbourly chat? Unimagineable.
But was it always this way?
I can clearly recall the Halloween nights of my childhood. Trick-or-treating at neighbours' homes. Neighbours with whom I was already familiar. And it wasn't unusual for my fellow trick-or-treaters and I to be invited inside. To stop for a while and perhaps have a drink of pop (as if more sugar was needed) while our hosts admired our costumes and attempted to guess our identities. Time seemed to move slowly then. It was charming. Sweet. Totally unrealistic.
I lived in a rural area. We had a lot of ground to cover. On foot. Time was of the utmost importance. All I could think of as my friendly neighbours nattered on and on, was that we needed to get out of there. Immediately. Needed to get moving. Before treats were gone and lights were switched off. And we were forced to return home with only a meager fraction of the treats we might have acquired.
Arthur and DW visiting with a kindly old lady on Halloween night while their friends waited patiently for them outside? It's a lovely story. Charming. Sweet. But totally unrealistic. At least for any child who's ever pulled on a mask on Halloween night.