I’m looking forward to going trick-or-treating with my grandchildren on Sunday. It’s going to be a crisp, autumn day and there will be hot cider awaiting us at the end of our trip around the neighborhood.
It would be understandable if I didn’t care much for the holiday, but my mother and my siblings saved it for me. I’m grateful.
In 1963, I had perhaps the most bizarre Halloween Day ever. My younger brother was just a few months old. While my mother was catching a nap, I was out riding bikes with my older siblings, wearing my white sweatshirt.
No bike helmets or elbow/knee pads for a five-year-old in those days. Perhaps my experience contributes to the standardization of that safety equipment.
Riding along on the street in front of our house, I hit something and over the handlebars I flew, coming to my landing place, face first, on the concrete curbing. Moments later, I stood before my mother as she slept on the living room couch. I think of this from her point of view every year – waking up to find your little daughter, soaked in blood, front teeth missing.
My mother could have been a trauma nurse. She was quite calm in such situations and with four kids there were frequently “such situations.” In seconds, I had an ice-cold washcloth in my mouth and was seated in the kitchen (where she could keep an eye on me while she made calls). First, Mrs. Sullivan – come over, I’ve got a bleeding kid, a sleeping baby and I’m going to have to leave (for the bleeding kid). Then the dentist – what to do about the bleeding kid?
The dentist advised that we go straight to the oral surgeon’s office. He’ll call ahead, just get over there. So off we went to Dr. Peracchio’s office, where my main memory is very sympathetic people and an anesthesia mask being placed over my face. The afternoon’s a blank for me. That’s a good thing.
Results? I shattered my top row of front teeth. They had to be suctioned out of my gum, which was separated from the roof of my mouth. Thanks to a great deal of skilled stitching by a very talented surgeon, you would never look at my mouth and have a clue that this calamity had happened.
Having surgery on Halloween … surely little Jeannie would be tucked into bed early for the night? Ha! No way!
Our neighborhood wasn’t just a collection of streets and houses. It was a community. Everyone knew what had happened by day’s end. We had to update them, right?
What better way than going door-to-door with the traditional greeting and revealing a horror show of bruising and swelling? That year, I was an alligator. All I remember was the mask – a long snout. My mother came with us so I could have some trick-or-treat time, then she brought me home and the older sibs continued. We’d arrive at the door, the neighbor would open it and ask my mother if I was ok. “She’s right here,” she’d say, opening the jaws of my gator mask.
Sooooo much candy. Pity candy. No apples. No “healthy snacks.” So much candy. When Dave and Sue returned after their rounds, they shared some of their haul as well. This seemed a fair penance for being on “look out for your sister” duty when the accident happened.
It was quite a while before I could EAT any of that candy, of course. For the record, I’m in the “loves it” camp on the candy corn question. Likewise on the Halloween question. It’s the beginning of the holiday season and my affection for it is a happily lingering memory of how a great mom can turn lemons into lemonade.
Jean Bolduc is a freelance writer and the host of the Weekend Watercooler on 97.9 The Hill. She is the author of “African Americans of Durham & Orange Counties: An Oral History” (History Press, 2016) and has served on Orange County’s Human Relations Commission, The Alliance of AIDS Services-Carolina, the Orange County Housing Authority Board of Commissioners, and the Orange County Schools’ Equity Task Force. She was a featured columnist and reporter for the Chapel Hill Herald and the News & Observer.
Readers can reach Jean via email – jean@penandinc.com and via Twitter @JeanBolduc
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