In the days before Halloween, my brother eagerly ripped open every mailer and box delivered to our house, hoping it was the banana costume he had ordered from Amazon.
“I’m going to match with my friend! He will be a monkey, and I’ll be a banana!” His excitement was contagious, igniting my own Halloween spirit. Over the next few days, my friends and I worked hard to transform ourselves into crime-fighting vigilante turtles.
We reminisced over our fondest Halloween memories as we cut cardboard into turtle shells and ripped old T-shirts for headbands. From matching cow onesies in 7th grade to the awkward raccoon years, the final days of adolescent Halloween seemed to creep near. After tedious preparation in between the chaos of college applications and final quarter stress, I was running on pure caffeine and Halloween spirit.
Pulling up into the circular drive-through by the glass doors, I watched as seniors poured in from the student parking lots, 8th graders stumbled out of cars, and teachers carrying their lunchboxes marched into the commons.
My brother’s voice peeped in the back of the car, “No one dresses up at Wheatley?” As an 8th grader new to the school, my little brother’s first reaction was to conform. He quickly removed his silly banana costume and folded it into his backpack. I looked around and saw students in jeans and hoodies, casual winter attire. But on such a special day like today, was the spirit of Halloween dead?
Walking into the school, I was greeted by Donna and Susan in Wizard of Oz-themed costumes as Glinda and Elphaba, a nod to the upcoming Wicked film. Relief washed over me as I soon spotted in the hallways the group of seniors dressed as… Seniors. Classrooms littered with occasional onesies or headbands thrown on in a Halloween hurry. Linguine and Ratatouille matching chef costumes worked alongside each other in the library. Little devil horns poked up from above the foot traffic of the lobby. Julius Ceaser raised his toga to answer Wu’s questions in stat. Maloney’s squeaky penguin fins flopped around in the art hallway as she greeted her students. The flashes of Halloween spirit were a reminder that Halloween was fading, but it was still a pillar of Wheatley culture.
I hoped to spot my brother wearing his silly banana costume throughout the day. Catching a glimpse of him through Dunn’s English 8 doorway, a part of me broke. Stuffed in his bag was the neatly folded banana costume. Dunn listened as I retold my frustrations about Halloween’s death. He observed that the lack of Halloween spirit had been declining for a long time.
To me, Halloween’s death is synonymous with the death of the naive humor of youth. The simplicity of trick-or-treating will soon become long-gone memories of the past, replaced with the pressure of growing up. Along with the perils of coming of age, we lose what keeps the spirit alive. The remnants of students in costume are a reminder of the childlike innocence we clutch on desperately to keep Halloween alive.
