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[ CONTESTANT #2 ] BRITS' TRICK: NO TREATS
This past summer, shortly before the birth of my second babe, I moved to a small village in England after an incredible job offer at Oxford University literally fell out of the sky and landed in my husband's lap. We spent the month of October adjusting to the early arrival of the baby, another boy, discovering again what it's like to share a house with a newborn while making sure our other son wasn't feeling too neglected. One day at the grocery store, near a tower of root vegetables, through sleep-deprived eyes I spied a single carved pumpkin. So did Sam, my eagle-eyed 3-year-old. "Halloween," he said excitedly. "When?" I gulped. "A few days," I said. "How many?" he said. "Two." Back at the house, as I nursed the baby downstairs, I heard Sam discussing Halloween with my husband as he got ready for bed. "Of course you can go trick or treating," I heard my husband promise. "You can wear the pumpkin costume your mother made you last year." Later that evening, I mentioned Halloween to my husband. "We don't even know if they celebrate Halloween here," I said. "Of course they celebrate Halloween in England," he boasted. "Sam saw a pumpkin." On Halloween night, it was agreed that I would take Sam around the neighborhood while my husband stayed home to shell out. I'd spent 12 pounds on miniature treats: Snickers, Mars bars, chocolate-covered raisins, crisps. As we approached the first house, I saw a festive black-and-orange poster on the front window and sighed with relief. Happy Halloween, I thought. But as we got nearer the front door, I read the words on the poster: No Trick or Treat. "Not this house, Sam," I said, steering him back down the path. Not the next either. Or the next. Or the next. House after house, we encountered the No Trick or Treat poster. Sam looked at me dejectedly. The stem of his pumpkin costume sagged. After canvassing the entire block without a single treat, he looked up at me and confessed that he wanted to go home. "Right," I said, bumping the stroller off the sidewalk in the direction of our lane. "No," Sam said, reaching for my arm. "Not to the house. To North America." I looked at his sad face, surrounded by a hood of neon orange, and frowned. "I'm sorry, Sam," I said. And then, because I'd always tried to be honest with him, I confessed that I didn't know the British didn't celebrate Halloween. "I thought everyone celebrated Halloween," I said. He nodded solemnly, but I felt like a shit all the same. He was 3 years old. It was too soon for such disappointment. When we had almost reached our lane, he looked over at me and said, "They do celebrate Christmas here, don't they?" At the house, while Sam stopped to inspect the glowing pumpkins on the front stoop (we'd carved three, one for every year since his birth), I bustled inside with the baby, who'd somehow managed to stay asleep during the big disappointment. In the living room, my husband lounged in front of the TV with the bowl of treats between his legs and a glass of stout on the table next to him. On the television, a British game show host gave away the big prize of the night: a pen set. My husband popped a chocolate-covered raisin into his mouth. There were miniature chocolate bar wrappers everywhere. He shrugged. "The doorbell didn't ring once," he said. "I know," I said, thrusting the baby at him. Then, suddenly, the doorbell rang. Both my husband and I jumped; the baby began to wail. "I'll get it," I said. I pulled open the door. And there, standing in front of me, was the most beautiful orange pumpkin I'd ever seen. Sam held out his empty pillowcase. "Trick or treat," he said, using his deep boy voice, the one he'd taken to answering the telephone with. I smiled, even though I felt like crying. I went to the living room for the treats and scooped up a handful. I dropped them into his pillowcase. Then I moved to close the door. "Bye," I said. "Mum," Sam whispered, "it's me. It's Sam. I'm in disguise."
I
nodded slowly. "I know," I said, "but your father doesn't. There
are still a few treats left. Ring the doorbell again."
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