If you’re among the vast majority of the 22,000 students here, you don’t have any kids (at least, none that you know of) so don’t feel obligated to read the following opinions of All Hallows Eve, as it was originally called. First, let’s consider our dark past to determine whether the crazy festivities of Oct. 31 have any relevance in today’s Western world.
During the late Middle Ages (when November was the first month of the year), costumes and begging were known as “souling” in England and Ireland; the poor would pray for the dead in exchange for food. Centuries later, Brits observed Oct. 31 and Nov. 1 as the time when the living and dead overlapped, and they (humble farm folk, not the deceased) prayed that the evil spirits would spare their crops. As for North Americans, a simpler Halloween was first introduced here in the early 1900s.
Nowadays, though, it’s all about greed and money. Halloween, as you know, is a multi-billion dollar business. Yet, retail stores are not the only greedy culprits. Take a look at an innocent child’s face after he or she utters those three magic words known from birth (Trick-or-Treat) after which a smiling neighbour drops some cheap candy into their shopping bags. Sometimes I wonder what revenge these little beggars would bestow on my pompous head if I simply said, “get lost.” But that’s not my main criticism, so I take it back.
As a lifelong evolutionist and skeptic, I strongly object to Halloween because of its religious nature – devils and brimstone, malicious spirits and angels, a hereafter, the living dead, et cetera. More importantly, I detest the underlying stupidity in setting up the little ones for disappointment and trauma – especially when kids on the block are only interested in overdosing on sugar, and staying up all night.
Of course, it’s not intentional. Nonetheless, an adult’s ignorance of possible consequences is no defence. Here’s a case in point:
Two of my friends had a daughter, and at dusk on Halloween some time ago, her loving parents took her to a Guelph mall where she was approached by a gigantic clown with a frightening smile painted on its face. Twenty-five years later, she’s still undergoing therapy for coulrophobia (a fear of clowns). Sadly, this woman’s friends and family still tease her about this “funny” incident. I’m not one of them.
Another example involves a nephew of mine, Adolphus. At age 9, he was just about to ring a doorbell when a human scarecrow on the porch-swing suddenly leaped to its feet with a blood-curdling scream. Doofus jumped about five feet in the air and ran away without touching the ground. That was in 1977, and we’re still looking for him. There was a rumour circling last week that a bedraggled white man called Adolf was living alone in a smelly cave in Argentina. But I digress …
Paraphrasing the great Gordon Lightfoot summarizes point I’m trying to make: If you could read their minds, what a horrible tale their thoughts would tell.