Halloween hits differently this year, in the age of COVID-19
Halloween has traditionally offered great deals on candy, which means the holiday gives me an excuse to stock up on my favorites. As a result, I often spend the first two weeks of November on a sugar-and-chocolate high, intermittently guilty that I have such little self-control.
The pandemic may have ruined that. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has labeled trick-or-treating a high-risk activity, and some towns, fearful of a superspreader event, have either cancelled or pared down activities. New York City, for example, has called off its Halloween parade, and the Los Angeles County health department has recommended trick-or-treating be scrapped. Springfield, Massachusetts, one of the state’s largest cities, and West Chicago, an incorporated suburb, have banned it altogether.
Though my hometown of Miami-Dade hasn’t put a kibosh on the door-to-door candy handouts, I’m resigned to seeing fewer pirates and princesses. Even The Hubby has noted there’s no need to hit the candy sales with the same enthusiasm of past years. He made this observation while I was putting up the decorations, an activity that always puts me in a good mood because it ushers a year-end parade of celebrations and get-togethers.
Now the wooden “Trick or Treaters Stop Here” sign is up and the ceramic pumpkin sits on the stoop under my beribboned witches’ brooms, but my mood has shown no improvement. I can’t quite explain the depth of my disappointment. As it is, over the years we had noticed a slow drop off in numbers as many families opted for house parties, but we’ve always gotten enough kids ringing the doorbell to prompt me to buy bags and bags of candy, ensuring I’d have leftovers.
I doubt that will be true this year. It’s not just the anticipated sugar sabbatical I dread, though I do resent not having an excuse to buy Tootsie Rolls and Milky Ways. More than anything, a diluted Halloween turns into one more reminder of how our lives have been disrupted and how our rituals have been altered. It underscores the many uncertainties, both large and small, we face daily.
Will the costumed kids wear their masks? How can trick or treaters properly distance? Should we wear gloves? Is it even safe to hand out candy?
Of course, 2020 doesn’t need white-sheet ghosts or plastic goblins to get us in a ghoulish frame of mind. The year has unfurled its own undisguised horror of death and loss, unemployment and hunger, racial strife and political divisiveness. Its Grim Reaper impersonation has also stolen plenty from children, from playdates to birthday parties, even the comforting familiarity of brick-and-mortar classrooms.
In the grand scheme of current disasters, the temporary loss of a spooky holiday shouldn’t merit more than a footnote in our thoughts. But as I see it, Halloween is the warmup to Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the recent spike in coronavirus cases doesn’t bode well for communal turkey and stuffing, especially with experts blaming small household gatherings for the recent surge. How can I not be bummed?
Nevertheless, desperate for good news, I’m trying to wring hope from anecdotes of resilient creativity. A family I know is having its three young children trick or treat room to room at their own house and then at the grandparents’ house. Neighborhoods are organizing parades so drivers can toss candy to dressed-up children standing in their front yards. And I read that commercial haunted houses have instituted new drive-thru experiences to attract the reluctant.
Maybe Halloween 2020 will turn out to be a lesson in flexibility. Maybe candy zip lines and chutes will serve as proof of Americans’ amazing ingenuity. Maybe drive-thru haunted houses will be celebrations of adaptability.
Maybe, maybe. And that, I must admit, might be almost enough to make up for all the candy corn I won’t eat.
Ana Veciana-Suarez writes about family and social issues. Email her at avecianasuarez@gmail.com or visit her website anavecianasuarez.com. Follow @AnaVeciana.
