Back when I was growing up Halloween was my favorite holiday of the year. I'm not kidding. Sure, Christmas was a blast and your birthday when you're younger is always fun. There was just something special about Halloween, especially being a little boy. Dressing up was serious business. You weren't just putting on a costume, you were becoming a cowboy, or a pirate. You were assuming the identity of whichever hero you had chosen to look like and you couldn't let them down! And I don't ever remember going to the store and buying a costume. We made ours from stuff around the house. One year Mom put a cardboard box over me, painted it red with black buttons and stripes and I went as a tin soldier! I was a ghost another year and a cowboy. And then came the actual door-to-door attack. My brothers and I raced from house to house like we were on fire. We used pillow cases as trick-or-treat bags and I kid you not, it was not unusual to fill the cases half full with candy by the time the night was over. Filled with Necco's and bottle caps and lots and lots of suckers. Mary Jane's and pixie sticks and even a Carmel apple every year from Mrs. Jones at the end of the block. Then we'd get home, dump the stuff out in the middle of the floor, and start trading. And my brothers and I would trade for an hour, followed by Mom bringing out a big bowl for each of us and sending us off to bed. I'm convinced she and Dad helped themselves to a few treats after we were asleep, but that's purely speculation! We didn't worry about what could happen to us, because nothing bad ever did. We didn't check the candy for bad things because who do something like that? It's a shame my grandkids won't know Halloween like that. Maybe I'll lay on the floor and trade candy with them like me and my brothers did. Of course we'll have to dress up like cowboys! Happy Halloween everyone!