One of my employees was telling me how she goes all-out in decorating her home for Halloween.
As she puts it, “People think that when you’ve reached the point of tacky, there isn’t any more you can do. They don’t realize that you can push right past tacky to majestic.”
I thought back to the Halloweens of my youth. We always made up our own costumes. I admit that I was envious of store-bought cartoon character getups — but I now realize that half the fun was the challenge of arranging the same bandanas and baggy clothes from one year to the next to depict a gypsy, a hobo and a cowboy.
I became an inveterate trick-or-treater, retiring only when I got so tall that homeowners gave me dirty looks. It’s a sad fact of aging that, just when you get old enough to appreciate the value of free candy, you’re too old for the tradition.
One of my more memorable All Hallow’s Eves was about 20 years ago, when I lived in Springfield and did some substitute teaching at St. Joseph’s School. I learned that most kids in Springfield’s Catholic elementary schools visit nursing homes in costume on Halloween.
The day before, the principal came into my classroom to tell the kids what to expect. He explained that some of the people they would meet did not have grandchildren who were able to visit them, so they hadn’t seen children in a very long time. They might want to hug you, he told them, and if you don’t feel like hugging them back, you don’t have to.
Then he said, “If any of them begin to cry, don’t be afraid — they are crying because they’re happy to see you.”
I don’t mind telling you that, after hearing this pep talk, I seriously contemplated how to get out of the trip. I’d been to a couple nursing homes to visit relatives, and I had hoped never to set foot in another one. (Of course, in subsequent years that’s where I would visit both my grandmothers.)
Well, the next day I sucked it up and boarded the bus. Most of the kids knew the drill, so I hung back, holding the hand of a youngster who was as nervous as I was. We walked through the entire nursing home; first the common rooms, then the hallways.
Near the end of our visit, a 9-year-old boy dressed as Dracula unceremoniously strolled into a resident’s room, right up to the very elderly lady who was perched on the edge of her bed, and who seemed unsure of whether she wanted to get out of it. The boy wrapped his arms around her waist. I turned to another teacher and asked, “Is that his grandma?” She replied, “No, he doesn’t know her. He’s just made this trip before.”
I turned back to see the woman enfold the child tightly in her arms, and the lad stood quietly, hugging her back until she was ready to let him go. Eventually they pulled apart, and the boy beamed at this total stranger and said, “Happy Halloween.”
I’ve seen some unselfish acts before, but this one has stayed with me for some reason. That lady had no family photos in her room; no mementos of loved ones. Did the little boy pick up on that, or did he just have a generous spirit? I will never know. But I do know that, even if only for a few moments, because of that little Dracula, she was somebody’s grandma.
Marian Kelly is a comedian, writer and motivational speaker. Her Web site is www.mariankelly.com. She lives in Seneca.
