Happy and Hapless Holidays

Between the ages of three and nine, my holidays were mostly spent lying in bed with a thermometer stuck in my mouth. Halloween was the worst. At age seven, my illness kept me home, and I missed out on running through the dark yards and collecting candy in that old pillow case Mom saved for the treats. On that hapless evening, I was designated the door answerer. It seems, I was well enough to pass out treats to other kids.

Often, I spent Halloween, Easter, Christmas and the Fourth of July flat on my back with the measles, chicken pox or a bad cold. However, I escaped the mumps and whooping cough, and as I grew older, I left these childhood illnesses behind.

That’s when I could finally enjoy Halloween. I dressed up as a hobo and headed down the streets knocking on doors and yelling trick or treat. One elderly man clasping his cane always made me recite the alphabet backwards before he’d give me my favorite chocolate bar. After the first year, I was prepared and recited, “Z-Y-X-W-V-U-T…” If I had to do it now, I’d come home with an empty sack.

As soon as I’d holler the infamous words at another neighbor’s door, the disheveled lady asked for a trick before she’d give me a treat. I might sing a song, do a cartwheel or recite a poem before she’d place the Tootsie Roll Pop in my sack. After I got home and looked in my bag, I sighed, “Gee, that was an awful lot of tricks for such a small bag of treats.”

On the Fourth of July, our family would picnic at a friend’s house. At night all the kids gathered around a fire and roasted marshmallows under our parents’ watchful eyes. Then, we danced around in circles with a sparkler that I imagined to be a fairy’s wand. The snakes were next and we’d place them on the ground, and watch their gooey dance. Later we’d sit out on a blanket in the front yard where we could see the park’s display of fireworks.

At twelve, I spotted a knee-length pink raincoat in the store where Mom worked, so I begged, “Please, please, Mom, can I have the coat for Easter?”

She warned, “If I buy you that coat, there won’t be any money left for an Easter outfit, and if it doesn’t rain or it’s warm, you won’t have anything new to wear.”

On Easter, everyone decked themselves out, even if it were the only new outfit they could afford all year. The most important item was the Easter bonnet. Picking out a special straw hat became a wonderful ritual. Women and girls wore hats to church, anyway, so why not a festive one? The hat chosen had to be embellished with ribbons, bows and, sometimes, fake flowers. Even if the rest of the outfit seemed bland, the hat perked everything up.

I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm when Mom agreed to buy the coat. I worried her prediction would come true, but still, I could hardly wait for Easter. When that morning finally arrived, it wasn’t warm; it wasn’t sunny. Nope! It rained.

Although many holidays were missed due to illnesses, many more became treasures that I carry to this day, like my pink raincoat. And, that buttoned, belted cloth coat became the hit of the Easter parade that year.