Halloween: THE American Holiday

Today is Halloween. Do people celebrate Halloween in other countries? I could take a few seconds to Google it, but I’m too lazy. I’ll choose to remain ignorant.

I love how everyone in America passes out free candy every Halloween night without giving it a second thought. Why has no generation ever stopped it? I’ll tell you why. It’s because everyone puts their weirdness aside on this one night just to make little kids happy. What a sweet holiday.

Anyone can trick-or-treat in this country, regardless of your race, creed, or religion. Correction, they do discriminate when it comes to age, but I’ve gotten around that by choosing good costumes to hide my age. For example, I’m 44, so I’m going out this year as a 43-year-old.

Halloween is something Americans take for granted, but for any immigrant, especially those of us who came over in our youth, the holiday is just one more thing that makes this country magical. I was in the first grade when I came to America. Kids at school told me that you just knock on people’s doors and people give you chocolates, candy cigarettes, Milk Duds, and more. Free of charge. No strings attached. My imagination ran wild as I envisioned our kitchen being so full of treats that we couldn’t even move around.

My mom worked at the Woolworth’s five-and-dime store, so she took us there to buy costumes one night. “Choose any one you want,” she said.

The selection was sparse, as most of the costumes had been sold. My sisters probably chose princess costumes, but I spied a very special outfit that was calling to me, and somehow there were lots of this one costume left. It was Nancy. You know, Nancy from the newspaper comic strip? She was a character who made her debut in the 1930s. (I wasn't alive yet.) The comic strip rose to great success, especially in the 1960s and 1970s. Nancy was simple, innocent, and maybe not so funny, but I was all those things too, so it was fate that I was drawn to her costume.

I put on my Nancy outfit as soon as I got home and immediately went door-to-door in search of candy. People looked puzzled when I said, “Trick or treat." Maybe I was doing it wrong. The elderly neighbor lady gave me some ribbon candy left over from the previous Christmas. I got very few treats, but I did get a proposition from two creepy men who lived in the basement of our apartment building. I turned them down. What they showed me wasn’t candy. That’s when I figured out it wasn’t Halloween night. You have to trick-or-treat on a specific night. Good to know. I logged that important tidbit in my diary, lest I make the same mistake twice.

Undaunted, when the real Halloween night came, my sisters and I raced from door to door, looking for treats. The adults would make comments as they opened the door and looked us over. “Oh, you’re a witch; what a cute princess. . . .” Then they’d look at me questioningly, apparently disgusted by my choice of costume. “And what the hell are you?” one asked. (That's a direct quote from Father McCleary.)

“I’m Nancy from the newspaper,” I’d chirp. People would sigh, as if I had wasted their time. In those days, no one was too happy to see an immigrant to begin with, but one with an Indian accent who didn’t even know what to dress as for Halloween seemed to produce a lot of “tisk-tisk” type sounds. One pregnant woman punched me, and many a door was shut in my face right after my sisters were fawned over and given extra treats. It was a tough neighborhood.

But I didn’t care. I had candy, and I felt invigorated. I looked past the threatening taunts of “Go back to India!” I ran from house to house with the breeze flowing through my hair, giddy from the fumes of the lead-based paint on my cheap, plastic Nancy mask. I'd pull it off my face to get air from time to time, but suffocating or not, I kept going. In those days, there were no Halloween curfews, so the night went on and on. To this day, I can’t remember a happier night in my life. Not my wedding night. Not the night my first son was born. Not even the first time I went to a Taco Bell. This was something more special than all of that. I felt so happy that I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, and that’s just what I did. I yelled things like, “Happy Halloween!” and “Only in America!”

When I got older, I continued to trick or treat into my teens and learned of another perk of Halloween. Annabel (my sister) and I kept going back to one particular house just to see the gorgeous guy who was answering the door. We had already knocked twice within the last ten minutes, when we knocked again a third time. This time, the man was annoyed, saying, “Haven’t you girls been here twice already?” That’s the day I hung up my Nancy costume forever! Thanks for nothing, good looking guy.

Now when Halloween comes around, I look at those little kids dressed as ghosts, goblins, and princesses and I’m horribly jealous. I want the candy. I want to rip their little masks off and run away with their bags of chocolates, but each generation gets its turn, so I fight such urges and the voices in my head. I just answer the door, dutifully distributing the old cough drops and expired medications we cleaned out of our medicine cabinet the week before. Happy Halloween everyone. It is your patriotic duty as an American to appreciate this holiday, so enjoy it!
-- Jackie

P.S. Thanks to my youngest son, Roberto, for putting Monster Mash, the only Halloween song I know, on this blog. The Nancy comic strip was provided by my oldest son, Hans. My middle son is a dud.

COMMENTS:

I knew it was YOU giving out those sticky old lozenges to the kids. You should be ashamed! -- Angry neighbor

I said "heck." -- Fr. McCleary

Let's see, you're from India, your son is Hans and the other is Roberto. This has got to be a disfunctional family after all. Can't wait to see what you do for Christmas. You do celebrate Christmas don't you or are you Indians of the Jewish religion? -- Anonymous
I lied about being from India to throw you off. It's easier to pretend to be one of 1.7 billion people. I'm really from Liechtenstein, but if I told everyone that, it would be easy to guess my identity. There are only two of us Liechtensteinians with sons named Hans. And, no, I'm not Jewish, but I love latkes! -- Jackie

Just to let you know, Halloween in the UK is awful!! No kids came to my house trick or treating!! It's pathetic. -- k-bomb

Teenagers: They're Human Like Us

A lot of people don’t like teenagers. I do. Teens are much like three-year-olds. They want to assert their independence, but very few  have any wisdom. They are ferocious and fearless and think they’re invincible.

Teenagers’ have great passion for things they don’t understand. They spout fiction, thinking it's fact. One teen just told me that if you’re not born in America, you can’t be president – see what I mean? Teens think my music and my ignorance about computers and football is funny. They try to explain those things to me, not realizing that I don’t care about anything that doesn't concern me. One tried to teach me how to use the Interweb and explain why my floppy disk doesn’t fit into my computer anymore. He couldn't tell I wasn't listening. That’s what makes him cute. Yes, toddlers are adorable, but teens can hold conversations and control their bladders. That's quite an advantage, especially on a job interview.

I see teens all the time at my job at the quickie mart. That's why I’m such a big fan. I’ll give you an example. I was talking to one little cutie who was telling me about Green Day. I assumed that was a new, improved version of Earth Day, but it’s a band. He also went on and on about All-American Rejects.* To watch his eyes light up as he blabbered on about less fortunate citizens was heartwarming. As he kept yacking, I wondered if it's possible to lapse into a coma and keep your eyes open at the same time. But the boy spoke so animatedly that I couldn’t interrupt and break his little heart.

When he finally took a breath, I asked why he wasn’t in school on a weekday. (Get out your hanky. This next part will make you cry.) He explained how his sick grandmother had just come home from the hospital. He was taking the day off to take care of her. He said he came to the quickie mart just to buy her her favorite brand of chewing tobacco as a surprise. Now that just melted my heart.

As I handed him the package of tobacco and charged him tax twice (since he wasn’t watching carefully), I told him he should be proud of himself for being such a wonderful grandson. He beamed and smiled at me. You could see he was proud. Some say teens are nothing but trouble, I submit to you this example of a selfless, caring boy. I’ll bet he’ll be a fine young doctor or pharmaceutical salesman one day. Would an infant or toddler ever think to buy their grandmothers chewing tobacco?

Did I mention that my sons are all teenagers now? They are, though each began life as an infant. I loved them as babies, but now that they’re coordinated, I can’t help but love them more.

Being a mother to a teenager is a joy. The word “mother” has its origins in the ancient Aztec word “mothos,” meaning “moth eater.” That really makes no sense. I’m a mother, and I’ve never eaten a moth. It’s no surprise the Aztecs all died.

To me, mother is just a synonym for “responsibility,” but as your kids grow up, you learn to delegate. My kids do all the cleaning, laundry, ironing, and yard work. I've reached the stage where I just smile and spout positive affirmations like, “Great work, kid,” and, “If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.” But soon I won’t have to do that either. My oldest son is learning how to give false praise too.

Having sons who are almost men is great. They're protective of their mother. If they hear me scream, theyknow I’ve found a spider and will come running to kill it. They’ll also kill other bugs. A cricket hopped at me from a dark corner of the garage one night, and my oldest son came running and killed it with a broom.

Another dark night when my husband wasn’t home, I spotted an intruder lurking in our back yard. I told the kids, and they ran outside and killed him too. They're always helping.

My sons are easy to be around. They laugh. They tell funny stories. The oldest will drive to the grocery store to pick up ingredients I forgot. All I have to do is nag and threaten. My youngest son will fix things. Not well, but a little better than my husband, at least. My middle son explained the NFC and AFC to me. I didn't listen well, but I had no idea that KFC had so much competition.

Yes, having teenagers means you never have a free night unless someone gets sick. You’re always at someone’s event, you experience many emotions as they start dating, and you run through money like water (we don't because we spend our money on ourselves, but other parents do). But you love every second of it. When my kids leave home and this roller coaster ride ends, I know my husband and I will be a wreck for several minutes. But for now, we just love having our boys with us at home. Each stage in a child's life is a blessing, and we are lucky to still be at an early part of this journey.

If you don’t have a teenager of your own, I highly suggest that you go out and get one! -- Jackie

*All-American Rejects is a band.

COMMENTS:

Jackie's Note: The original quote is, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it." -- WC Fields

Hold on, you said teenagers are supposed to be able to control their bladders? My brothers have some work to do... --Jackie's Facebook Tutor, Durham, NC

The potty trained ones are better! ROTFL @ the WC Fields quote, too. -- Crazy DB

I truly believe you will miss the little buggers when they leave the nest. Probably for way more than a few minutes. I know I miss mine A LOT. I only get to wallyworld TWICE a week instead of daily and I can tell you I miss seeing all the interesting shoppers!! NOW who can I look up to and model myself after??
Love ya! -- Trainer Jill
Jackie's comment: She's right. I don't know what I'll do when my sons have all left the house. I'll turn into a weird lady who has 50 cats and never washes her hair. Heck, I've got over 30 cats now and wash only on Wednesdays.

Let's see, you're from India, your son is Hans and the other is Roberto. This has got to be a disfunctional family after all. Can't wait to see what you do for Christmas. You do celebrate Christmas don't you or are you Indians of the Jewish religion? -- Anonymous
Jackie's response: I cannot answer, as I'm sure anything I say from this point will reveal my identity.

A Natural Cure for Insomnia

I was wide awake at 3:00 a.m. last night. And the night before. And the previous night. Not sleeping much has become a regular part of my life for four straight days. Each night as I watch the hours drag on, I break out in a cold sweat, and not the good kind of good sweat brought on after engorging oneself with desserts and non-fat lattes.

Has this happened to you? I sighed as I got out of bed and got ready for another tiring morning. As I ate a bowl of Count Chocula cereal, I remembered watching an episode of Third Rock from the Sun with John Lithgow (he’d always come over and watch the reruns with me). In one scene, a church gospel choir sings, “Can’t sleep at night, and you wonder why -- maybe God is trying to tell you something.” God was clearly trying to tell me something, but what? I needed to look into my heart or into the forces around me.

At mass, I asked God to help me find peace. I searched my heart for distress, but found nothing but a couple ventricles and an artery.

If my heart wasn’t the issue, then it must be a disturbance in the forces within my home. On the drive home, I discussed the problem with my closest confidants, my husband and sons. One son told me that George Lucas and Liam Neeson are experts in “the force” because they made a movie about it. Now I was getting somewhere. When we got home, we googled George and Liam’s home phone numbers. Within a couple minutes, I had left messages on both of their answering machines. I explained that there was a disturbance in the force and that I needed a call back before nightfall.

I ordered lunch and asked Mr. Li, the guy who delivered our Chinese food, if he's ever had such a problem. He told me about feng shui. He said the positive energy of chi was being blocked in my house and that negative energy was coming in.

Chi, huh? I grabbed four offending Chia pets that had been growing on my front stoop and threw them all into the road in front of my driveway. Mr. Li chuckled nervously and explained that the Chia pets have nothing to do with chi. I looked at the broken mess on my sidewalk and my neighbor, Martha Jenkins, who was bleeding a little after being hit in the legs with shrapnel from the Chia pots. Why was she trespassing on my property anyway? Her cross words were ruining my focus. I went back into the house to think.

As I stuffed a stack of pennies into one of those 50-cent coin wrappers to give to Mr. Li as a tip, he told me that chi is the natural positive energy of the universe. He said I should remove the clutter from the house, rearrange the furniture a bit, and then I would sleep better.

“Imagine that water is able to flow into your home. If something blocks its natural flow, it must be removed,” he said. There were notebooks, socks, and a few garden gnomes laying in the foyer. Sure, all that looks beautiful to visitors, but to me, it was now nothing more than junk. Mr. Li warned that the chi shouldn't be allowed to stagnate or escape. He then shut the door behind me, and I heard him yell out in anger as he stepped on a piece of pottery from the Chia pets. Sounds like he could use some balance himself.

It was time to set to work. I didn’t need to imagine water flowing into the house. My garden hose would work just as well and help me define the problem areas. When I saw that the water had fully covered the first floor of my home, I turned off the hose and was disappointed to see that there was no "flow." The water was stagnant. Stupid Mr. Li! His plan didn’t work! Why did I waste such a generous tip on him?

Just then, my Silky Terrier doggie-paddled past me, and I noticed that he created little waves around him, which gave me an idea. I can’t entrap the water. I needed to open a door to create flow. With the front door open, the cleansing water began to flow outside.

And, as if by some feng shui miracle, I noticed that the water took with it all kinds of items that must have been creating bad kharma. The rushing water knocked down Martha Jenkins, who had just managed to get up. She must have been bad. Papers, a pair of overalls, a long forgotten house guest, and all sorts of junk were being cleared from my home naturally. I didn’t realize that my oldest son’s baby picture was emitting negative energy, but it must have been because I watched it float out the front door, followed by some legal documents and my grandmother’s diamond tiara. So that was the problem!

When the water finally subsided, there was a sense of quiet and peace in my home. I felt cleansed and happy. I looked outside and saw that Martha Jenkins looked quite nice wearing Nana’s tiara. It sparkled in the sun and illuminated her silvery hair.

I called the cops on her and then lay down for a long nap. I was able to sleep like a baby, despite the sounds of the sirens and the occasional gunshot at Martha out front. I wondered if this is how great Noah felt after the floods subsided and set down his ark. Thank goodness I didn’t have to build an ark or lasso any wild animals, like he did.

When I woke up, my family and I celebrated my newfound peace. Just then the phone rang. It was Liam Neeson, concerned about my issue! Liam said that he and George Lucas were coming over for dinner and bringing Irish food. Wow, talk about everything working out! What started out as a bad day turned out to be just another great day in my life, and I owe it all to the chi!

COMMENTS:

Count Chocula? As in name-brand cereal?
-- Nosy Reader
Yes, name brand! I buy generic for the kids and the real stuff for me. Don't you know me by now?
-- Jackie

Star Wars was on TNT last night.
-- Gina from North Jersey
Thanks for the heads up, valued reader!
-- Jackie

Is chi related to the drink, chi lattes?
-- Bobb, Beijing
No, that's "Chai," Bobb. Are you seriously from Beijing?
-- Jackie

Bobb needs to read a dictionary.
-- Derek, OH

Count Chocula? As in name-brand cereal?
-- AJR, Dayton, OH<>

My Friend Rick

Every now and then, someone does something so nice for you, so altruistic, that it changes your entire attitude about life and restores your faith in mankind. I am that person to my good friend, Rick Rhoman from Puerto Rico. (Remember, that’s not his real name. I added an extra letter to throw you off, but I won't divulge which letter.)

I met Rick 31 years ago when he was my ninth-grade science teacher. The guy was an absolute genius, ahead of his time. He taught us all about Darwinism, evolution, biology, and wizardry (way before J.K. Rowling stole his idea -- except his wizard's name was Norman. Norman the Wizard). Rick also told me I had artificial intelligence long before Al Gore invented the Internet.

God put Rick in my life as a guardian angel. I know this because he saved my life when I was 13. I was walking into his biology class and fainted right there on the classroom floor, but Rick had the presence of mind to quickly douse my face with nearby beakers of acid and formaldehyde. It worked wonders. The pain of the acid helped me regain consciousness and cleared up my embarrassing teenage acne. Yes, I needed plastic surgery afterwards and yes, he asked me to reimburse him for the formaldehyde,* but the important thing is that I probably would still be unconscious today if it wasn’t for him. [*Note: I had no idea formadelhyde was so expensive -- $60 for an ounce, plus $75 for each additional ounce, but you don't complain about money when someone just saved your life.]

Anyway, Rick is so bright that he’s the closest thing to a TV doctor that I’ve ever met. I’ve called him for medical advice more than two times in the past three decades. Once my husband had unbearable leg cramps, and Rick told us to get Joe’s appendix removed right away. Another time, my son was bitten by a frothing raccoon, and Rick explained that our boy probably picked up a rabie and just needed to walk it off. My son walked for three days, and now he seems normal. He does try to bite us now and then, but what teenager doesn't?

Many times in life I have called upon the knowledge wisely imparted to us in Rick’s classroom. Once I found myself trapped in an airport elevator with an electric eel, but thanks to Rick’s teachings, I was able to kill the eel immediately and dissect it with my exacto knife. I could even name the different parts of its anatomy – head, foot, clavicle, etc. Again, that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t met Rick. Of course, I'm not allowed to take my exacto knife into the airports anymore, but that’s ok -- I now take the trains.

You might wonder how someone like Rick got to be so bright. It’s a combination of being naturally gifted and learning at the best universities. I know he speaks fondly of the years he studied abroad in Rome, home of the Eiffel Tower. Also, despite being hit by lightning twice, Rick is almost always able to hold semi-coherent conversations in that broken English accent. Rick was such an effective teacher that both of my older sisters, who were also taught by him, came quite close to graduating from high school.

Rick has popped in and out of my life quite a few times, especially soon after I graduated from high school. He and his wife not only went to my high school and college graduations (though not invited), but they also attended my wedding and my sisters’ weddings (again, no invitation, and no gift either. Plus, they stole two dinner plates).

Rick got lucky and married a model who is from Sweden or some other country in Australia. Upon meeting Rick for the first time, Lori’s gut instincts and faulty prescription lenses told her he was "Mr. Right." They now have two kids who luckily take after their mother. Anyway, let’s just say that after years of knowing them, we’ve grown quite fond of the Rhomans, so fond that I would consider waving if I spotted them in the mall.

Anyway, I hadn’t heard from Rick for years and years, and suddenly we got a collect phone call at 2:00 in the morning, and there was Rick on the other end of the line, asking for money. I told him that Joe lost his job, but he was insistent that we give him money to launch his start-up business, promising to split the profits once he becomes rich.

Being on the inside track in the scientific world, Rick says he has foreseen the burgeoning need for wallabies here in the U.S. He is importing eight of the creatures and plans to breed these animals to sell to local farmers and high school students. He thinks the wallabies will be the newest craze, like Sea Monkeys or Sham Wows! (Sea Monkeys – just add water and stir. It sounded like a good idea, until I drank ‘em.)

Rick tried this wallaby venture once before, but he only imported males the first time. Reproduction of the species under those conditions, he learned after months of research, was nearly impossible. This time, he will import a female too. With eight animals in all, he calculates that they will reproduce and hit the million mark in just six months, despite the seven-month gestation period. Madness? No, I say he’s a genius . . . and others do too. Rick’s brilliant plan has already been endorsed by renowned scientist Stanley Hawking, who is said to be Steven Hawking’s step brother, twice removed (from prison – he got out early on good behavior both times).

Anyway, I have to admit I was feeling a little down, but Rick’s phone call changed everything. Sometimes in life we are overwhelmed with problems, but then someone comes along and gives us the best gift of all – hope. Thanks, Rick. It’s an honor to call you my friend. In less than a year, we’ll both be swimming in money or wallabies! It’s up to America to decide.

READER COMMENTS:
-- I like the bit about the trains. Please include more locomotion humor in future posts.
AJR - Dayton, OH
(Jackie's note: Will do, AJR! People just don't joke about transportation like they used to in the old days. I think it's a taboo topic in our modern world.)

-- Keep an eye on the wallabies, they may try to pocket the profits.
Ron - N.J.(What exit?)

--I was innocent!
Stanley Hawking, no longer in Leavenworth, KS

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