When I was of trick-or-treating age, ca. 1959-1962, it was just about sugar. No store-bought costumes, not even masks. We would wear crummy old clothes and color our faces with sidewalk chalk. And no plastic baskets, Pillow cases were more efficient. We would ring doorbell after doorbell in our Queens street of six-story, between the wars apartment buildings. No front door security ring-ins then. We made out pretty well.
Of course, it’s all different now. I don’t know what small children make of all these images of death and dismemberment, but I suspect they are completely desensitized. This was the scene at a Saturday farmers market a town or two over from the suburb where we live.
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