My First Halloween

     My first Halloween was October 31, 1989. I was four years old. I had no idea it was coming, didn’t even know what Halloween was, probably because Mom didn’t know what it was. Halloween isn’t celebrated in Japan. But on that day in 1989, Dad stomped into our apartment home, with his combat boots, carrying a yellow and black cardboard box with a cellophane window underneath his arm. Excited, he handed it to me.

     “There ya go, DeeAnna. Open it up,” he said, with a big grin.

     Dad bought me something? In those days it was rare for Mom and Dad to bring home new things for me. Most of my toys came from garage sales or were hand-me-downs from Mom and Dad’s friends who had older kids. I was stoked to receive something from the store.

     I slid the top half of the box off the bottom half, and looked inside. Black and yellow folds of nylon and plastic lay inside. Oh, no. Whatever this is, is it another “toy” for me that’s really for Dad? I looked up at him as if to say, “Now what?”

     He pulled out the box’s contents for me. First was a tall black hat with a wide brim. I put it on. Next came a yellow piece of plastic with a few holes and lots of grooves and folds. It was stiff with an elastic string that went from one side to the other. What am I supposed to do with this? I set it aside, confused. 

     The last thing to come out of the box was a sort of trash-bag that had the same colors as was on the box. My excitement was replaced by disappointing confusion.

     “Hey, what is this?” Mom asked.

     “It’s her Halloween costume,” said Dad, as he pulled the hat off my head and slipped the yellow and black trash bag over my shoulders.

     “Hey, she’s too young isn’t it? Who’s gonna go with her?” said Mom.

     Dad was slipping the hard plastic thing over my face. The elastic wrapped behind my head. Oh, that’s what the holes are for. To see. I tried to stick my tongue through the tiny hole in front of my mouth.

     “It’ll be fine,” assured Dad, “this is what kids do here, Ichie. I’ll take her, but that means you’ll have to pass out the candy.”

     “Huh? Oh. No, I will take her. What do I gotta do? Just get the candy, isn’t it?”

     Dad placed the black hat back on my head and handed me a toy broom. Oh, now I get it! I’m a witch! How cool. Why am I a witch?

     “DeeAnna, how do you trick or treat?” Dad asked me.

     What the hell is ‘trick or treat’? I shrugged my shoulders. The trash bag shuffled loudly.

     “You’re gonna go up to the houses and say, ‘trick or treat’ and they’ll give you candy. Say ‘trick or treat.’”

     “Tricker treat,” I said, through the little hole in front of my mouth. He handed me a paper bag about half as tall as me, with white handles. I couldn’t see it, the mask on my face made it difficult, but I recognized the feel of the twisted ropes in my hand and could feel its bottom when I lightly kicked at it with my shin.

     “How much candy can I get?” I asked.

     “That depends on how many houses you go to,” he replied.

     Sweet! People are going to give me candy? Just like that? I was ready for this. Wait, what about Justin? Where was his costume? I glanced over at my brother, standing in his play-pen. Ah, who cares about him. Tonight was all about me for once.

     Alright, let’s go, already! I want some candy! I was getting antsy, shuffling around in my trash bag. Mom took my hand and led me to the front door.

     “Hold on,” Dad said. He walked out of the room and came back a moment later with our 608 Kodak. He pointed it down at me, and I smiled behind the mask. He snapped a few photographs as he chuckled to himself. I smiled bigger. 

     “OK.” He put the camera back in its place. Mom put my shoes on for me and she slipped into hers. It was already dark out. I was never allowed out after sunset but Mom had my hand and soon we were on the walking path behind our complex, headed in the same direction as everyone else.

     That night the San Diego air was chilly but under the mask I could feel my face getting sticky. I kept re-adjusting the mask so the holes lined up with my eyes. We went from house to house. I was too shy to even say the magic words I rehearsed with Dad but I got my candy.

     After my bag got about half-full, Mom was ready to take me home.

     “OK, we gotta go home now. You got a lot a candy,” observed Mom. We got home and I tore the mask off my face.

     Mom gasped. Dad looked over.

     “Oh, my God! She has chicken pox again?” cried Mom. Dad looked at my face, puzzled. I was wiping away the sweat.

     “Hey, don’t touch,” he said, pulling my hands from my face. What? I was sweating and I just wanted to get out of this trash bag. I stood there while Mom and Dad talked amongst themselves.

     “Daddy, I’m hot. Can I take this off?” He bent down and pulled the trash bag up over my head. Holy cow, I was so sweaty I didn’t even care about the candy, I just wanted to take a shower.

     “Does your face itch?” Dad asked. No, why would it itch? I shook my head.

     “She has to go to hospital?” Mom asked. Whoa, what? No, no no. They can’t take me to the hospital. I haven’t thrown up. I don’t have a fever. They can’t take me to the hospital!

     “I don’t have to go to the hospital!” I cried. “I don’t itch! I’m fine, see?” I started jumping around to show them I wasn’t sick.

     “She’s already had the chicken pox,” mused Dad. Mom had walked out and now was back with that horrid pink bottle. I wanted to cry. Do I really have the chicken pox again?

     Dad pulled my shirt and pants off and started inspecting the rest of me. I already had the chicken pox! There wasn’t a single one left on me. I hadn’t had them for a long time now.

     “It’s not chicken pox,” affirmed Dad. Thank God!

     My parents finally let me shower. While mom inspected every single piece of candy I got that night, I sipped on hot chocolate Dad made me and we watched Gremlins. I made Dad carry me to bed that night, fearing the gremlins would come at my feet from every dark space under every piece of furniture in the house. Mom rubbed calamine lotion all over my face “just in case”.

     Fourteen years later, when I sprained my ankle, I discovered that I have a sensitivity to latex. My skin breaks out in a giant, red, bubbly, itchy rash.