DEAR trick or treaters,
THANK YOU for knocking on my front door. It is good to know that when young children knock, the door resonates with enough sound for me to hear.
Curiously, I don’t get many knocks from small fists at 8pm at night.
There are probably a few good reasons for that. One could be that in this day and age of increasingly unscrupulous types getting about, allowing young children to roam the streets at night knocking on strangers’ doors asking for lollies might just seem a bit risky.
It sort of flies in the face of the years of being told not to accept lollies from strangers.
Now I realise that you have probably all put a lot of effort into your costumes.
Actually, I realise that the temptation presented to you from the myriad of catalogues promoting the ready-made costumes and decorations were probably just too hard to resist for your parents, or you simply whined until you got some.
Sadly, it seems this nondescript date of October 31 has provided an excuse for shops to hype up some extra spending.
I remember back to the Halloweens of my own childhood… hang on, no I don’t.
Being an Australian, having lived in Australia for my entire life and grown up with largely Australian traditions, it is now clear that we cared little for this overtly Americanised tradition.
Your respective families must be very busy, what with commemorating Christopher Columbus Day, Martin Luther King Day, Independence Day and Thanksgiving, all on top the regular Australian festivities you no doubt take advantage of.
I struggle to find a single beneficial element to “trick or treating”. It seems to divide neighbourhoods more than it unites them.
Should you have been bearing a lamington or pie drive form to raise money for you local primary school camp, I’d have been more than receptive. (Although a little curious as to why you were doing it at night… and dressed as Frankenstein.)
Deep down, I wanted to open the door wearing a beetroot-stained white apron over a torn flannelette shirt holding a cane knife laced with tomato sauce, before staring down at you and declaring that: “We don’t believe in Halloween”.
I think the looks on your faces would have been priceless.
My other option was to drop boxes of Combantrin or Berocca into your little sacks of tooth-decaying hope.
My sensible wife however pointed out this might not be the best idea for neighbourhood relations.
So please refrain from knocking on my door again. (Although I would like to order a family sized steak and kidney when the next pie drive is on.)