Halloween, 1984: Homemade Costumes and the Long Walk Home

The Short Answer

For a lot of families in the 1980s, Halloween was homemade from start to finish. Mom sewed the costumes, we carved the pumpkins at the kitchen table, and we went door to door with one pillowcase and one flashlight until our legs gave out. In 1984 it fell on a Wednesday, a school night, and nobody minded one bit.

The Candy Was Hidden Two Weeks Early

Mom bought the candy two weeks early, a big bag of the little bars, and she hid it. Top of the closet, behind the towels, in the back of the pantry where nobody ever looked.

Nobody except us. We found it by Tuesday.

We only took one. Then one more. By the end of the week the bag was a little lighter, and it quietly moved to a new hiding spot. Mom never said a word. She just bought a second bag.

The Biggest Pumpkin

We picked the biggest pumpkin we could find, the one Dad had to carry to the car with both arms. At home it went on the kitchen table, on top of yesterday's newspaper.

The grown-ups did the cutting. We did the scooping, up to our elbows in the cold, stringy middle, and the seeds went on a cookie sheet to roast. Then came the face. Every jack-o'-lantern on our street had triangle eyes, a triangle nose and a big grin with a tooth or two. Nobody had a pattern. Nobody needed one.

A candle went inside, the lid went back on, and the pumpkin went out on the front step to wait for dark.

Finished on the Sewing Machine at 2 a.m.

Our costume was homemade. For a week the pattern lay spread across the dining room table, with pins, scraps of fabric and a tape measure everywhere. A pirate, a bunny, a cowboy, a princess, a clown with a big ruffled collar.

It wasn't finished when we went to bed the night before. It was finished in the morning, laid over the back of a chair, ready to go. Somewhere around 2 a.m. the sewing machine finally went quiet.

We never heard a thing.

And if the night turned cold, the costume went on over a sweater, or under a winter coat, and half the neighborhood had to guess what we were.

Grandma's House First

Before the neighborhood, there was Grandma's. She was already waiting at the window. She made us turn all the way around so she could see the whole costume, and then she said what she always said:

"Nobody leaves till you eat something."

So we ate something. A popcorn ball, a cookie, a mug of hot cocoa still warm from the stove. Then she sent us off with a wave from the porch.

One Pillowcase, One Flashlight

There were plastic pumpkin pails, but we took a pillowcase, the biggest one in the house, because we had big plans. One flashlight for the whole group, and whoever held it was in charge.

The porch light was the rule. On meant come on up. Off meant keep walking. Up the front walk, ring the bell, and all together: "Trick or treat!"

And from the end of the driveway, every single time: "Say thank you!"

There was always the house with the full-size bars, the house with homemade popcorn balls, and the house that gave out toothbrushes. We went until the streetlights were the only thing left on, the same streetlights that called us home every summer night.

Our Legs Gave Out. Dad's Never Did.

By the last street, the pillowcase was heavy and our legs were done. The little one slowed down, then stopped, then held up both arms.

Dad's legs never gave out. He scooped up the little one, costume and all, and carried them home on his shoulder. And he carried all the bags, too. Ours included.

If you remember being carried in from the car after a long day, you know exactly how that walk felt.

At home, the candy came out on the living room floor for sorting and trading, and the trading went on until bedtime. A few of the good ones went missing along the way. Dad never said a word.

The Magic Was Homemade, Too

None of it was fancy. The candy came from the grocery store, the pumpkin came from a farm stand, and the costume came from Mom's sewing machine in the middle of the night.

But we remember every bit of it. The smell of the pumpkin, the hum of the machine, Grandma at the window, the porch lights, and Dad's arms on the long walk home.

The costumes were homemade. So was the magic.