by Stacey Torres

Created on: November 01, 2010

Excerpt from my novel, Queen Irene; A Garden Of Easters

There are some specific holidays I choose to commemorate in my own way, such as Groundhog’s Day or Juneteenth, for reasons I won’t go into here, but for the most part, I’ll stick to my old standards. I am not, however, fond of Halloween at all.

Another commercially driven day of the year, Halloween means many things to many people. I believe it’s just another day to spend money, drink a lot of booze and act and/or dress like an ass. My dislike for the day, however, has much darker, sinister roots. And, no, it wasn’t a dark and stormy night.

I was one of those children of the 50’s and 60’s that were the first to experience the commercially made acetate Halloween costumes. They were glorious to look at, and if you got one you were mighty special. You could be Dale Evans, Roy Rogers, Peter Pan, Mighty Mouse, and Cinderella, a clown or the Frankenstein monster. Maw had always made my costumes, but when I was about seven I begged for a store bought costume. She relented when she finally found one on sale at Mays that was guaranteed to fit me for the next 30 years. I chose to be Snow White.

The thing about the old store bought costumes was they itched you to death! Everyone on our block suffered hives, but we were too proud to admit it to our elders until we knew we’d be safely at home with our bags full of candy. Adding to my horror and humility, I was forced to wear my costume over my school clothes, tights, a pair of wool leggings with stirrups that fit over boots (not glass slippers), and a heavy tweed coat on top of that. I was not granted a new hairdo, but a heavy hood was secured to my coat collar, placed over a woolen cap and Snow White’s mask was snapped onto the front of all of that with the elastic wrapping around my numb head.

I was lucky to be able to even get down our front stoop and out the gate, let alone up the street with my friends. Well, that part is an elaboration; I was not allowed to go with my friends, but with Maw, who stood right behind me as I went door to door down our long block. Maw hated the ordeal as well, but Mamma was never home from work in time, and Maw wanted me home before it was too late.

At each and every door, Maw would prompt me, “Say trick-or-treat!”

“Trick or Treat, Mam.”

“Say Thank-You!”

“Thank you, Mam …”

And it went on and on. She was selective as to which

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