Growing up, I participated in Halloween. Every year, we donned our costumes, drove into town, and trick or treated until our little hearts were content. It was the one day out of the year when we could definitely count on both of our parents clearing their schedules, focusing large amounts of time on our costumes, and laughing and walking alongside us as we begged complete strangers for candy. My mom prepared for Halloween by digging out her scary goopy decorations and pairing them with her beautiful fall decorations. The neighborhoods we rode past on our way to school were filled with gignormous spider webs and life sized skeletons, Freddy scene remakes, and haunted houses that really, throughout the normal year, we all thought were haunted anyway. Though the decorations terrified me (I am easily scared), I LOVED the rush of some teenager jumping out of the pile of leaves next to his front door as we walked up to the doorbell. Though I grew up in the south, the buckle of the Bible belt, and had plenty of influential people all around me thumping out the message that Halloween is evil, I loved every scary second of it.
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