Halloween

Our building's large apartments have attracted many young families with children, and consequently the building has become known as "child friendly." Last week on Halloween, the children were in almost full attendance as they raced up and down corridors and up and down stairs going from apartment to apartment asking for treats. Householders willing to participate in this ritual – amost all – posted on their door a drawing of a jack-o-lantern that had been distributed a few days before. A reception in the lobby offering cider and sweets preceded the children's dispersion to ask for treats

All the trick or treaters sported costumes and carried bags to receive the candy offered them. One pair of girls, dressed as conjoined twins, wore a single sweater pulled over their heads, with only the right arm of one girl and the left arm of the other appearing. A two-year old dressed as a bunny. Another two-year old, wearing green hair and a red face, represented, perhaps, a leprechaun. Several boys sported swords and many girls wore makeup, with a few dressed as princesses. One princess, acting perhaps from noblesse oblige, held out a box from Unesco, requesting a contribution.

Parents – a father or a mother – accompanied the youngest children. Two of the mothers wore costumes. One painted cat whiskers on her face and wore a long tail. The other wore the flowing gown of a Green goddess, but it turned out that the pipe cleaners emanating from her head were not a crown, as I had thought, but snakes. She was Medusa. Children who were trick or treating without their parents went with other children, in twos, threes, and in one case four. The children were excited, and the adults who opened their doors to them were both pleased to participate in this annual ritual, which reinforces the solidarity most of us feel with our neighbors, and amused by the children’s intensity.

When our doorbell rang, I would open it, holding out a large black bowl filled with assorted sweets, including lollypops and miniature candy bars. The girls tended to pick just one or two pieces whereas the boys tended to grab a handful. After one boy had done so and I had not yet raised my bowl, he asked “do you want me to take more?” I told him to take as much as he wanted, so he grabbed another handful. I don’t know whether he was being polite or simply greedy.

Our building contains but 54 apartments, accessed by two elevators, one on each side of the building. Because the elevators are slow, one has a chance to talk to other residents during our stately descent or ascent, so we know most of the people who live on our side. It’s a pleasure to live among these young families and to watch their children grow. I would hate to live only among other old fogies.

Still, there are disadvantages to living in a building with so many young children. They sometimes play in the building’s courtyard, and their screams echo up to our apartment on the sixth floor, but the kids generally don’t stay there very long and hardly at all in the winter. The children sometimes congregate outside the building’s entrance, generally in the late afternoon, playing catch, climbing up the poles that support the long awning, and generally running around. Some residents find the resulting noise disturbing, especially those who live on the lower floors, but again, the noise doesn’t last very long, or so it seems to me whose apartment does not face the street and who enjoys seeing the kids play. Occasionally one finds unattended kids turning cartwheels or racing through the lobby, although such behavior is strictly forbidden. So far none of these athletic kids has knocked me over.

The apartment we leased, while our own was being renovated, is in a former office tower with 250 apartments. Living there was like living in a hotel as far as getting to know the other residents. So it’s a relief to be back in our building, where we know our neighbors and our neighbors know us, where the neighbors tend to be young and personable, and where there are plenty of children to ring our doorbell on Halloween.

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