I’ve never gone trick-or-treating in my entire life. Never once. I grew up in a church that declared it pagan, satanic, and completely off-limits for any “true Christian.” As a result of living most of my adult life in Poland, I’ve never been at home when trick-or-treaters came round. I lived in Boston for two years, but I think I was out with friends when the kids were making their rounds. And so last night was to be the first night I handed out candy.

Kinga and I weren’t terribly thrilled about it, but it was a novelty for both of us, and we both like novelty. We went to Sam’s Club and bought three bags of candy, sure that we’d be mobbed. There are quite a few kids that live in our apartment complex, and it seemed to be prime hunting ground for kids of parents who prefer a somewhat controlled environment for their wee ones.

Not a single knock. Nothing.

Kinga mocked sadness, but I think it was more the realization that we’d already opened one of the bags of candy and would not be able to return it for a refund.

And we never did carve the pumpkin my parents brought the last time the came for a visit.