In one of the little towns I which I was ministering last year, they do it right. The kids and their friends from my former church all pile into a trailer behind of the dads' pick-up's, and they go from house-to-house trick-or-treating.
Everyone sits on front porches and hands out good things for the children to enjoy, and everyone oohs and aahs over the kids' cute costumes. Other children are all running around the neighborhood, and it's just good fun. Neighbors get to know each other, and the feeling of community is palpable.
It was not so in our new community last night. Only a couple of houses on each street in our neighborhood had on lights. Only three cars with children in them stopped at our home for treats. And as we walked the streets of our neighborhood looking for inviting front porch lights, all three of us in our cowboy hats, we ran into NO other families.
It was as we walked that I realized: the community I served last year, where my son had the best trick-or-treating experience possible, is probably the exception, rather than the rule, now. People have become so afraid of the neighbors they don't know, so untrusting of others, that most families stick to church or community events for Halloween fun. They don't even go trick-or-treating anymore. And most people in houses on Halloween night have become so disgusted by greedy teenagers wanting candy for free, or even afraid of people taking advantage of an open door to commit crimes, that they no longer turn on the porch light. They stay holed up inside, safe.
Stories like the one I read this morning don't help.
When I was a little girl, things were different. I remember how the neighborhood crawled with kids running from house to house, and I looked forward every year to dressing up as a hobo, or Strawberry Shortcake, or Pippi Longstocking. I remember chatting with neighbors I didn't know, and suddenly they became friends.
When trick-or-treating dies, so does something wholesome and good that taught us that strangers can become friends, that our neighbors are people we can and should care about (even those we don't know), and that a community spirit can be real in our neighborhoods.
I'm sad today.
I'm sad that neighborhood trick-or-treating seems to be a dying tradition.
I don't know what we'll do next Halloween. In the meantime, I'll pray that God will work in a powerful way to take away fear, and to return safety and joy to our communities, so maybe trick-or-treating can make a comeback.
At least my son said he had fun last night. He didn't know any different, not able to remember last year. I guess his joy is all that matters.
Everyone sits on front porches and hands out good things for the children to enjoy, and everyone oohs and aahs over the kids' cute costumes. Other children are all running around the neighborhood, and it's just good fun. Neighbors get to know each other, and the feeling of community is palpable.
It was not so in our new community last night. Only a couple of houses on each street in our neighborhood had on lights. Only three cars with children in them stopped at our home for treats. And as we walked the streets of our neighborhood looking for inviting front porch lights, all three of us in our cowboy hats, we ran into NO other families.
It was as we walked that I realized: the community I served last year, where my son had the best trick-or-treating experience possible, is probably the exception, rather than the rule, now. People have become so afraid of the neighbors they don't know, so untrusting of others, that most families stick to church or community events for Halloween fun. They don't even go trick-or-treating anymore. And most people in houses on Halloween night have become so disgusted by greedy teenagers wanting candy for free, or even afraid of people taking advantage of an open door to commit crimes, that they no longer turn on the porch light. They stay holed up inside, safe.
Stories like the one I read this morning don't help.
When I was a little girl, things were different. I remember how the neighborhood crawled with kids running from house to house, and I looked forward every year to dressing up as a hobo, or Strawberry Shortcake, or Pippi Longstocking. I remember chatting with neighbors I didn't know, and suddenly they became friends.
When trick-or-treating dies, so does something wholesome and good that taught us that strangers can become friends, that our neighbors are people we can and should care about (even those we don't know), and that a community spirit can be real in our neighborhoods.
I'm sad today.
I'm sad that neighborhood trick-or-treating seems to be a dying tradition.
I don't know what we'll do next Halloween. In the meantime, I'll pray that God will work in a powerful way to take away fear, and to return safety and joy to our communities, so maybe trick-or-treating can make a comeback.
At least my son said he had fun last night. He didn't know any different, not able to remember last year. I guess his joy is all that matters.
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