Halloween 2025 falls on a Friday—normally a work night for me, forklift-driving for a big-box retailer I can’t officially name (you can probably guess). But when I think back on what Halloween used to mean, I’m instantly transported—not to my job, but to the 1980s.
Back then, costumes came straight off the rack in cardboard boxes. Each one came with a thin, plastic cover that barely survived a night of running around, worn over your coat, and a molded mask with two eye holes, a sliver of a nose slit, and a thin mouth gap that made every breath sound like Darth Vader on a sugar high. Looking back, they were gawd-awful. But at the time? Almost as good as the candy they gathered.
I don’t remember every costume, but odds are I went as one of the usual suspects: Hulk, Captain America, Spider-Man—the holy trinity of 1980s boyhood superheroes.
My Last Halloween: Trick or Treat
I was 13 years old, so I couldn’t find employment in the work force, but save for one: managing a newspaper route. I thought, “Alright fine. A paper route it IS!” And my Dad wouldn’t agree to signing the papers for me until I agreed to joining the Boy Scouts since I just completed Cub Scouts and didn’t want to continue with it.
Again, fine, I’ll do what a man’s gotta do. Sheesh!
I joined the Enterprise Weekly paper route. It was once a week, which the papers were delivered to my house on Tuesday to be distributed on Wednesday. There was no fee for delivery, but based on donations. The suggested amount was $2 per month for the typical 4-5 newspapers delivered. That first summer I wanted to impress my customers! I delivered to their doorstep, in a nice dry place, and easily found area.
When I set out to collect my donations, I changed my speech. I would knock on the door, heart-pounding in my chest as I was yet to be comfortable approaching people asking for money for services rendered. I would smile, “Hello there, it’s Carlos once again. The boy that delivers your Enterprise newspaper faithfully every Wednesday. As always the suggested donation amount of $2 is always appreciated but if you feel that I’ve earned more, you can donate more.”
Well the response of overwhelmingly more than I could imagine! By the time I was done collecting, I had $80 in my pocket. For a kid in 1989 with 80 bones, I was rich. So I biked myself to the local pharmacy with my carrier bag and one thought on my mind. The 5 cent bin was gonna get rocked! I spent nearly half of my collection on candy and comics.
I biked back home, summarily dumped out my sock drawer, and filled it with my coveted candy and comics. For the rest of the summer, I would eat nothing but candy. I wouldn’t eat much at dinner in favor of my treasure trove of chocolate, sugar, and candied items.
My mother grew concerned once she discovered this change in my behavior. That and all my damn socks on the floor instead of the drawer. She even mentioned to my Dad.
Mom: “Lovey, do you know what your son is up to?”
Dad: “Why the hell is he ‘my son’ when he’s up to trouble? But yes, I know what he’s up to.”
Mom: “Oh, yeah? Like his sock drawer?”
Dad: “Yes. I’ve seen it myself. It’ll be fine, Lovey. If I know my son, and I do, it’ll solve itself eventually.”
Mom: “He’ll get cavities, he’s teeth will fall out of his mouth, and might get diabetes!”
Dad: “Trust me. Just be glad it’s not Playboy magazines, ok? Don’t say anything, Carina.”By the end of summer, I had nearly consumed the drawer full of candy. And as my Dad had predicted, I became disenchanted with my purchase. On my child’s teeth, I had a record 11 cavities, gained pounds, and couldn’t bring myself to eat any sugar, let alone drink sugary drinks. It was nauseating to think about.
On the first day of school of middle school (7th grade), I packed up my carrier bag with the remaining amount of candy. I took it to school, I went to the cafeteria, and literally strewn all the candy on the tables right before lunch. My friends, and other school mates snatched up the free candy like the largest piñata broke from the ceiling.
Once home, I placed all my socks back in the drawer, and said nothing to anyone.
Halloween Evolves
The next stage of Halloween evolution was teenage mischief: parties, haunted houses, corn mazes, and the occasional make-out session in a graveyard (if you dared).
Once we could drive—or be driven—Halloween parties replaced trick-or-treating. The date didn’t matter anymore; the costume did. Halloween costumes were the gateway drug to cosplay, long before the term was mainstream.
For me, it became about couples’ costumes and contests: Iron Man and Tony Stark (yes, two separate years), Spider-Man, and one or two others best left undocumented.
I didn’t realize that Halloween costumes were a precursor to cosplay. [Cosplay, a blend word of “costume play”, is an activity and performance art in which participants called cosplayers wear costumes and fashion accessories to represent a specific character]
Since we were in costumes, your age was nullified therefore underage drinking was a constant occurrence at said-parties. For me, Halloween meant costumes for myself and my date, which was usually my girlfriend at the time. Even public events, and participating in costume contests.
The Full Circle
Now, in my forties, I’ve traded party nights for porch lights. I want to pass out candy, see kids in their costumes, and relive that flicker of magic. But the times have changed.
Since COVID—and all the other real-world monsters—fewer kids go door-to-door. Today’s “Trunk-or-Treat” events, held in well-lit parking lots, offer safety, supervision, and hot chocolate on tap. They’re wonderful, but part of me misses the boldness of walking up to a stranger’s porch, whispering “trick or treat,” and hoping for something sweet.
Maybe that’s the final evolution: from trick-or-treat-ee to trick-or-treat-er.
To create an inviting doorstep.
To hand out candy with the same joy I once collected it.
Because after all these years, I’ve learned this much—
the trick is having an open door; the treat is sharing the magic.
The Costumes Through the Years
Over the years, I’ve worn more faces than a Marvel multiverse. From store-bought plastic masks to DIY builds with working lights, Halloween has always been part art project, part performance.
Below, I’ve added a gallery featuring my costumes through the years — from the awkwardly heroic 1980s to my most recent look in 2020. It’s fun (and slightly embarrassing) to see the evolution of my imagination.
This year, though, there’s something extra special about dusting off the cobwebs — literally and figuratively. My longtime childhood friend, Melanie, is hosting her annual Halloween party — the one I’ve always missed because of work.
But not this time! This year, I can go.
And I’ll be walking in with the love of my life, Jen. ❤️🎃
los, Fil-Am Renaissance Man 