Halloween is approaching and, ever so timely, one of the
icebreakers in a recent work meeting was: What are your Halloween
traditions? Do you dress up? What's the best costume you've ever seen?
Without even thinking, I immediately answered that Halloween
is very foreign to me.
I then proceeded to tell the team about the best costume
I've ever seen.
A friend of mine once dressed up as the song It's Raining
Men.
Now, on any given day, she is dressed to kill, so she
already had a head start. But for this particular costume, she showed up
looking like a million dollars, carrying a yellow umbrella covered with cutouts
of attractive men hanging from every corner.
I was absolutely blown away by the creativity.
And yes, before anyone asks, I wholeheartedly approved of
the men she had selected for her umbrella parade.
The costume was clever, funny, and surprisingly low effort.
In fact, it made me think we shouldn't reserve dress-up fun
for Halloween alone. Why not have costume parties any time people feel like it?
Anyway, back to Halloween being foreign to me.
Until I moved to America, I had never encountered the full
Halloween experience. The costumes, the decorations, trick-or-treating, haunted
houses, horror movie marathons, pumpkin carving, and entire neighborhoods
transforming into what can only be described as temporary horror sets.
The costume part I understand.
People get creative. They become their favorite celebrities,
movie characters, historical figures, or come up with brilliant ideas like my It's
Raining Men friend.
What I struggle to understand is the decorating.
For the life of me, I cannot fathom why someone would spend
good money turning their front yard into a mini graveyard.
And I have seen it all.
A few years ago, I was driving behind a car carrying an enormous illuminated skeleton in the back. Another house near me proudly displays a giant skeleton so tall it looks like it's monitoring traffic. It stands there year after year, waving cheerfully at pedestrians as if it has somehow become an unofficial member of the neighborhood association.
Maybe it's because, for me, death has never been something
to celebrate.
Or perhaps it's because I didn't grow up with Halloween and
don't fully understand its history.
Whatever the reason, all the skeletons, tombstones, ghosts,
and fake corpses leave me feeling more disturbed than festive.
The pumpkins, however, get a pass.
I actually love the pumpkins.
Although, to be honest, I'm still not entirely sure whether
pumpkins belong to Halloween, fall/autumn in general, or some marketing team
that successfully convinced us they belong to everything between September and
Thanksgiving.
As I was thinking about Halloween decorations, I remembered
a young man I once worked with.
He had developmental disabilities and lived independently
with support services. He was a genuinely lovely person and one of those
clients who could make an ordinary day unexpectedly fun. We spent many days out
in the community, attending activities and enjoying simple adventures.
What most people wouldn't know from meeting him was that he
struggled significantly with mental health challenges and was frequently on
suicide watch.
His favorite holiday was Halloween.
Not just during October.
All year.
His home looked like Halloween had permanently moved in.
Skeletons. Skulls. Graveyard-themed decorations.
January through December.
And almost every evening, his preferred way to relax was to
watch horror movies.
I don't pretend to know exactly what contributed to his
mental health struggles, but I often wondered about the environment surrounding
him.
There were days that began wonderfully and ended in crisis.
Days that ended with emergency interventions and hospital visits.
And I couldn't help questioning the impact of constantly
being surrounded by images of death, fear, and darkness.
Perhaps there was no connection at all.
But it certainly made me think.
Which brings me back to that work icebreaker.
Am I missing something?
Is there a side of Halloween I'm not appreciating because I
didn't grow up with it?
Or is it perfectly reasonable to enjoy the creativity,
admire the costumes, appreciate the pumpkins, and still be completely baffled
by the collective enthusiasm for turning perfectly lovely homes into
graveyards?
Maybe one day someone will explain it to me.
Until then, I'll happily keep the pumpkins, admire the
creative costumes, and remain suspicious of any holiday that encourages people
to spend hundreds of dollars making their yard look haunted.
