Watching: It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, with the boys.

Weather: Unseasonably warm. The boys didn't need to wear shirts underneath their costumes.

The Strangest Treat: While most of our neighbors receive trick or treaters at their door, Mr. Byron stood at the end of his driveway, leaning against the back of his station wagon. When trick or treaters stopped at his house, he reached into the car's open back window and pulled out a can of Pepsi to give to them.

Ghosts of Halloween

Ghosts of Halloweens Past

Rummaging in the crawlspace weeks ahead of time to choose the perfect outfit from our limited supply of costumes and props. The box of costumes smells a little musty, a little like mothballs, but to me it is a wonderful fragrance, the smell of Halloween itself.

My favorite costume consists of a black velvet vest paired with a white, puffy-sleeved blouse, and a flowing, purple skirt trimmed with gold and black braid. I tie a red, silky scarf around my head and don large gold hoop hearings (clip-ons since I'm not allowed to pierce my ears until I'm a teenager), and I become a gypsy! Some of my friends like to dress up as hoboes or witches, but not me. I want to be glamorous and exotic, not comic or ugly, on Halloween.

Praying for good weather so that I won't have to wear a coat over my costume. My mother does not understand: a hooded, fake-fur trimmed parka just ruins the whole effect.

Waiting with barely suppressed excitement on the great day itself as the sun slowly sinks and twilight falls. At last it is time to go out. My father accompanied us around the neighborhood when we were very young, but by the time I am eight, my two younger sisters and I are allowed to go trick or treating by ourselves.

Our street, a circular cul-de-sac, is mysterious and other-worldly in the autumn night. Tall trees arch overhead, leaves crackle under foot. Every house's porch light is lit, except for that of the old crank who lives at the top of the circle. We've learned to avoid his house.

We cross the street to our first stop, and I ascend the porch steps, carefully holding my full skirt up a few inches so I won't trip. We ring the bell, and Mrs. Runkles opens the door and invites us into her house.

"Oh, how adorable!" she exclaims. She pretends not to know who we are and tries to guess our identities: "Are you Liz? Are you Elaine? Let me see, who are you?" We stand silent but smiling and let her guess. When I was very young, I really believed our neighbors were fooled by the little black half-masks we wore over our eyes.

At every house, we are invited in. At every house, the neighbors pretend not to know who we are. Even when I am old enough to know that they are only play acting, it is a comforting ritual.

Examining and sorting my loot, gloating over the full-sized chocolate bars, and spurning the less desirable treats, though eventually all of it will be eaten. We are allowed to keep our Halloween treat bags in our room. My youngest sister will polish all of hers off within a week, but mine will last until nearly Thanksgiving. Our middle sister hoards hers, rationing herself to a bite or two a day, and as a result still has Halloween candy at Christmas.

Ghosts of Halloween Present

Painting Daniel's face as Darth Maul for the fourth and last time this year. "Can you lean in a little closer to me, Dans. It's hard to reach you."

"Y-E-S." Daniel likes to spell everything these days.

"Almost done the black part. The red will go fast, and then we'll be done."

"G-O-O-D."

"Daniel! You moved, and I just messed up! Hold still!" I grab a wet washcloth and scrub at the crooked black line on his cheek.

"Sorry, M-A-M-A."

Escorting our boys down our street. Daniel is carrying his double light saber. Stephen's antennae on his ladybug costume keep tilting downward, and Matthew's bee wings keep folding up, but they are incredibly cute, nonetheless.

The street is even darker than usual because not many houses here have their lights on. I can't really blame our neighbors--a number of them are elderly and fearful of the bigger kids who come around from other neighborhoods--but it is sad to see how few of them are receiving trick or treaters.

We stop at a few of the unlit houses because those neighbors had told us ahead of time they wanted to see the boys. But we're through the neighborhood in about a half an hour.

Loading the kids in the car and driving to see our friend Sylvia in Lawrenceville. She had called the day before and asked us to bring the boys by. As we pull into her driveway, Tab said, "This is the perfect Halloween neighborhood."

He was right. Many of the houses were decked out with Halloween decorations, and nearly all of the houses were lit. Everywhere we looked, we saw small groups of children herded by parents from house to house. After we visited with Sylvia, Tab suggested taking the boys trick or treating along this street.

"But we're not from here. We're outsiders."

"Oh, c'mon. Nobody's going to challenge us, and if they do, we'll tell them we're visiting Sylvia."

Walking along with the boys in Lawrenceville, I experienced an odd sense of deja vu. This street reminded me of my childhood neighborhood. Tab felt the same way. This is where we'd like to live, if we are ever able to move.

Stopping at my grandmother's house on the way home from Lawrenceville. My aunt Rita had asked us to bring the boys over for their treats.

Nana's house seems too big and empty without her. Halloween was traditionally believed to be the time when the veil separating the world of the living from that of the dead is the thinnest. Memories of Nana were very strong for me this Halloween night.

"Two years ago we brought them here, remember, Tab? Daniel was Darth Vader, and Nana pretended to be scared of him. He took off his mask so she wouldn't be frightened." Last Halloween Nana was in the rehab center, and we brought them there dressed in their costumes to see her during the day.

Emptying the boys' haul into three zip-locked bags marked with their initials. We let them pick one treat each to eat tonight. Daniel's face is devoid of his Darth Maul makeup; only a few traces of black and red paint remain along his hair line. The little bugs have shed their wings and antennae and are happily munching away.

Watching them at the table, I realize, yet again, that one of the best things about having children is being able to relive the best parts of childhood. My sons have given me back my joy in Halloween.

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