The fifth food group

I've felt guilty for the last three years. Seven months before my father died, we got into an argument. It was a silly subject, really. One that I've laughed about with friends for years. Of course, today being Halloween, makes me think about this day. Here's why:

My father never let my brothers and I go trick or treating, in the traditional sense. He was afraid that someone would try to taint the candy they gave out. He insisted, instead, to drive us to the local strip mall and hustle us through the shops in search of candy. I remember one Halloween when my father took my to the Jewel grocery store, and told me to wait in line. I was supposed to say "trick or treat" to the cashier. It was the year when my costume was the worst. I basically had a beach ball tied to my head and my face was painted like a clown. It was the only costume left at the Ben Franklin when we went to get me a costume for school the day before Halloween. When I got to the front of the line, I repeated the words to the cashier and she was stunned. She looked over at the cashier at the register to her right, and shrugged her shoulders. She had nothing for me. It was embarrassing.

We did trick or treat once, in the traditional sense. When I was seven. It was the day after my grandfather died, so my parents made an exception. We had gone to my aunt's house because our parents were discussing the plans. Plans for the funeral. Since my cousins were allowed to go out, our parents buckled. But we didn't have costumes. Our saving grace was the fact that being a Hobo was a relatively easy costume to put together at the last minute. We took a cork, held it over the flame of my aunt's stove, and created a char. Each of us rubbed the black cork on our faces, making them look dirty. We each grabbed a stick or a broom, filled a pillow case with towels, and tied them together; our suitcases. I was excited to go out on my first real hunt for candy; even if it was only going to be for a little while. We went to a few of the neighbor's houses, filled our paper bags with candy, and began heading home. Not before we stopped at one of our cousin's elderly neighbor's house. She wasn't giving out candy. She had homemade caramel apples. Being that the treat consisted of the easiest razor blade subject, and the fact that it was "open candy," we had to politely decline. This offended the old lady, and our cousins, who gladly took the treat. Even with the uncomfortable ending, it was nice to partake in the traditional event. But we were not allowed to repeat it.

This was what my father and I argued about. He didn't remember his strict stance on trick or treating. Insisting that my memory was flawed. We went to a movie that day. It was the last movie we saw together. Watching movies together was something we did together. The movie we saw was, "The Departed." During the movie, after countless ads about turning off your cell phone, my father, to my horror, answered his phone when it rang. I was shocked and appalled, so it added to my negative attitude toward him for the day.

When we got home from the movie, I solicited the help of my brother, Ira, to help my dad refresh his memory of Halloween Night's past; which he did. This put my father on the offensive. He looked at me, at his last straw. Told me to go fuck myself (warranted), and left.

It took me a month to make amends. And, in retrospect, I'm glad I did. It was a silly thing to "call" him on. It is something that sticks with me to this day. On this day. The day kids love to dress up and be someone else. The day kids ring doorbells for candy. The day parents give permission for kids to make candy the fifth food group. The day parents remember their childhood, and the times they got to eat as much candy as allowed. A good day. Not a day to argue.