Spooky

Yesterday I celebrated the traditional South Philadelphia Halloween. I rushed home and tore open six bags of candy, reserving two peanut butter cups for myself. I flipped on the porch light to signal "open" to trick-or-treaters and waited on my front stoop with the goodies.

As usual for Halloween, my street was quiet. That's because my neighbors had already celebrated what I like to call "White Residents Halloween." This is the second year I received a note the week of Halloween letting me know the "neighborhood children" would come around on a specified, non-holiday night.

But last night I got to give candy to the "other" neighborhood children. While most of my neighbors hid in their houses, lights off, a few of us emerged with bags of candy and the spirit of the season. The children came in all ages and sizes, many with homemade costumes. My favorites were a ballerina and a ladybug. One tiny girl in a stroller put out her hand, but she burst into tears when I tried to hand her candy. "She's afraid of the kitty," her mother said, looking at Tug in the doorway. Not something I would have thought possible about a 7-pound gray tabby cat. Then again, I get scared from realizing I live in a neighborhood where people appear to prefer a segregated Halloween. It's kind of spooky.