[Note to readers: The following essay was written on October 26, 2005. Why is this important? I’ll tell you in a few days.]
Spain doesn’t celebrate Halloween, and I find that very sad. Why? Because Halloween isn’t just my favorite holiday, but it’s also my only opportunity each year for socially-acceptable cross-dressing.
For those of you who are not familiar with Halloween, let me provide a little background. Halloween falls on October 31st, and is much-loved in the US by children and childish adults alike.
During the weeks leading-up to Halloween, trees lose their leaves. Apples come into season. People decorate their homes in a Vincent Price motif. And on one very special night, entire families gather around the television to watch “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!”–or at least, they did during the pre-VCR/DVD/TiVO days when I was growing up.
But the best thing about Halloween is “trick or treating.” On Halloween night, children dress in costumes–ranging from scary to silly–and go from house to house ringing doorbells. When the door opens, the children shout, “Trick or treat!”…the homeowner puts a piece of candy in each child’s sack…and then they move on to the next house. By night’s end, the children have accumulated enough candy to last until…well…until November, at least.
I, by the way, trick or treated until I was 22 years old–at which point I decided to stop. Why? Because I noticed that many homeowners were greeting me with a basket of candy in one hand and a canister of pepper spray in the other.
Anyway…Spain, as I said, doesn’t celebrate Halloween. But that hasn’t stopped me from being prepared during each of the five Halloweens that I’ve spent here. I always stock-up on candy *just in case* some enlightened, iconoclastic Spanish youth in full Spiderman or Carmen Miranda regalia should decide to turn the status quo on its ear and ring my doorbell with pillowcase in hand. But alas, my doorbell falls silent each October 31st and I am forced to quell my depression by shovelling a wicker basket full of Conguitos into my mouth throughout the following two weeks.
But this year, my friends, things are going to be different. My Halloween isolation is coming to an end. Why? Because my three year old daughter’s birthday falls on October 29th and we’ve invited her friends and classmates over for a birthday/Halloween bash.
I’ve been preparing for weeks. I spent 50€ on a shopping cart full of plastic skulls, spiders, bats, witches, black cats and other props needed to convert my living room into an Ozzy Ozborne music video. I have an ample supply of make-up on-hand with which to paint the kids’ faces. Sitting beside my front door is a beefy scarecrow sporting a hockey mask and sickle. I’ve even assembled all the ingredients needed to make carmel apples and orange-colored Rice Crispies Treats.
There’s only one thing that I’m missing: Clark Bars!
Despite my best efforts, I just couldn’t find any Clark Bars in Spain! Sure, they’re disgusting. Sure, every American kid is disappointed when he empties his sack at night’s end and discovers that his Halloween booty is 75% Clark Bars. But can one properly celebrate Halloween without them?
If the US Ambassador is reading this, I’d like his opinion on the matter. And no, I cannot wait until he has finished watching “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!”
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