Despite what we’re seeing on shop shelves, Halloween – rather than Christmas – is nearly here.
I always loved dressing up when I was younger. There wasn’t a great selection of costumes on the island in the ‘70s when my family first moved to Cayman, but with a bit of imagination, glue and staples, we were able to come up with some very inventive creations.
Mum would drive the four of us to various apartments and houses to get treats, and we always ended up with a pretty good haul. It was the variety you got that was particularly exciting.
Once we got home, we’d sift through the treasure of Pop Rocks, Hubba Bubba, SweeTARTS, Smarties (the US version), Good & Plenty, Now & Laters, and whole lotta Brach’s we’d scored, along with mini name-brand chocolates, if we were very lucky.
Then, the trading market would begin. I personally loathed Good & Plenty – and anything else licorice-adjacent – so I’d be happy to give those up in exchange for some Wrigley’s gum.
I remember our parents sighing deeply at the sight of the Now & Later selections, which were probably dreamed up in the lab by a savvy dentist. Step 1: You’d leave half the candy behind on the wrapper as you tried to prise one from the other. Step 2: Whatever you managed to salvage and get in your mouth would instantly go to work on any fillings, braces or crowns to ensure the subsequent booking of a dental appointment. That stuff was like fruit-flavoured taffy mixed with Gorilla Glue.
I can’t remember at what age I stopped trick-or-treating – I’d like to hope it was before I turned 13 – but then the teenager and adult parties began to kick in. Despite attending many of them, there are only a few costumes I remember.
On one occasion, my bestie Lynne and I dressed up as Ghostbusters for what was then the block party of Blue Parrot, Sunset House and Seaview along South Church Street. We wore black pants and black tops and printed out the Ghostbusters logo to turn into patches on our outfits.
Then, we grabbed two backpacks, cut some old vacuum cleaner hoses to stuff inside them with just the tube end sticking out, et voilà! – our proton packs were ready to go. The final touches were black baseball caps with the logos glued onto them, and binoculars sitting on top as our Ecto-Goggles. Lynne had a nice light pair – modern and perfect for bird- and ghost-watching. Mine, on the other hand, were straight out of World War II. They were big, heavy and clunky.
Our outfits were a huge hit as we walked the road between the three party locations (apart from one guy who thought we were bug exterminators), but it didn’t take long for my ‘goggles’ to start eating into my skull. That sensation, coupled with several mixed spirits (guffaw), brought on a stonking headache, so I wasn’t exactly the merriest ghostbuster on the block.
Of course, when you’re young, you push through the pain if it’s a good party, which I did. Nowadays, a hangnail is enough to keep me in for the night.
I do also recall one year flirting with the design of a rather naughty costume that would have involved some beach balls and a body-length wrinkled tube of pink material, but Lynne and I never got past the drawing stage – we were both helpless with laughter. And the idea of being stopped by RCIPS’ finest if I was driving around in it was enough to put the idea to bed.
In these modern times, there are endless costumes available to buy, although I do still like going old school – handmade is just more fun, in my opinion.
There are many Halloween parties around the island, with some held over a few nights. And, of course, there are haunted houses to visit. I confess, I’ve always been a bit of a wuss at the thought of going through one of those.
Everyone’s changed opinion of Ellen DeGeneres aside, I used to love when she’d make her staff run the gauntlet of the Universal Studios Hollywood Halloween Horror Nights. I reckon that’s exactly how I would react. Problem is, I can’t high-pitched scream these days. I don’t know if it’s because years of singing affected my vocal cords, or yelling – rather than talking – at people, removed my ability to screech the Mariah Carey notes, but I can’t scream.
Whenever I’m on rollercoasters (which I love) or that God-awful swinging galleon (which I hate), I sort of bellow out my nerves in a lower register; think: a displeased rhinoceros. It’s not just disconcerting for me; it’s odd for anyone else in the general vicinity.
I’ve seen the advertising for the Nightmare at Field of Screams – a brilliant production that raises money for charities every year – and I really feel I need to swallow my fear this time and take the plunge. If you’re in there and you hear someone that sounds like Barry White being pinched very hard, that’s probably me.
Beyond dressing up for Halloween and going to parties, I love now being the adult who can hand out candy to kids. Unfortunately, we’ve never lived along the main thoroughfares of the popular neighbourhoods, so a couple of times I’ve set up a temporary ‘shop’ in the middle of a busy lane. Muhammad to the mountain, and all that.
The first time, I bought so many bags of sweets, I thought we’d be eating nothing but Mars bars for the rest of the year. And I was so enthusiastic, I was throwing 4-5 treats into bags at one go.
Ha! What an amateur.
The goblins, ghouls, fairies, superheros, dinosaurs, wizards and pumpkins started as a thin trickle, but after a while, we were absolutely overrun. I hadn’t seen the like since I’d opened a fresh bag of cracked corn in a garden full of chickens.
I began to dial back the generosity, and by the end – only an hour later – I was almost cutting mini Snickers in half just to make sure the final group of children got something.
We packed the table, lights, decorations and empty candy bags into the car, and drove home. We had no strength to unpack it the same night – we just staggered into the house, collapsed onto the couch, and each took a couple of heavy breaths.
“Little monsters,” I said.
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