Call me the Halloween Scrooge—I just don’t find any fun in this day and think it’s absurd that it’s even a “holiday.” I haven’t been a Scrooge all my life and I have no religious objections to the day. I just don’t enjoy Halloween. Maybe it’s because I hate orange and black or that the costumes are uncomfortable and leave me freezing my ass off. This is what I remember of Halloween growing up. “Remember” being the key word here because in a recent search to discover the roots of my Halloween scroogeness, I came to realize I have NO photos of me as a kid with any Halloween costume—and neither does my brother! This is a tragedy in today’s shutterbug culture! (Of course, not an Easter or Christmas passed without a photo by the Christmas tree or the blooming azalea bush.)
As an adult, I tried to make up some ground and dressed up for college street parties. Apparently, cameras were more accessible in the 90’s than the 70’s and 80’s, so all was not lost and I have some memories of my attempts of Halloween dressing up. But at some point, my Halloween Scrooge-persona emerged and I said, “Goodbye” to costumes, parties and even the candy. This moment, I attribute to a “red rice” incident my senior year. You figure it out!