Recounting his personal experiences as a recent immigrant from Hungary, Jim tells about his first Halloween as a confused kindergartner at an American school. Luckily, this poignant tale about a sad little boy "not fitting in" does have a happy ending!

Halloween. As my 4-1/2 year old would say, "I don't like it, I love it!"

I take much delight in watching my boys dress up as walking crayons or one of the "Power Rangers." They get so excited just thinking about knocking on our neighbors' doors and receiving their favorite food: candy!

When I was seven years old, I also couldn't wait for Halloween. It was October 1964, and I had recently moved to a different part of Carteret, where I made a new friend. His name was Mike Fago. He was two school years ahead of me, and he took advantage of my naiveté. He was kind of a wise guy and would always get me into deep trouble with my parents.

Our friendship got off to a good start when he convinced me we could go trick or treating on the day BEFORE Halloween without costumes. I wanted to believe it was true, so we went to the first house and a little old lady answered the door and gave us each a piece of candy without saying a word. As we came upon the second house, Mike started snickering and said, "You knock first." I did and an elderly man came to the door wondering what I wanted. I no sooner squeaked out the words "trick or treat," than he started yelling, "Get out of here!" with a Polish accent. At that moment, I knew I had been set up.

That's a fond memory now. My very first Halloween, however, was not a very joyous experience. Or was it? The year was 1962 and we lived in an area of Carteret that was occupied by immigrants and African-Americans. I had only been in this country for 31/2 years and I really didn't learn to speak English until I reached first grade (after a few years of watching a lot of television). So, there I was in kindergarten, both my parents working in factories, and left in the care of an old Hungarian woman (who seemed to be 100 years old from my perspective). Since my parents were from Hungary, they had never heard of Halloween, trick or treat, dressing up in costumes, or distributing candy to kids. Believe me, I don't blame them. It was hard enough getting adjusted to our new way of life in the U.S.A.

I was walking to Columbus School on what I thought was just another autumn day. I must have been late because I saw only one boy entering the building. Suddenly, I had a funny feeling in my stomach because that boy was wearing some weird sort of clothing. When I entered the classroom, everyone was dressed in costumes and eating cupcakes! Needless to say, I was very upset because I had no idea what was going on. And, to make matters worse, the teacher reprimanded me because she thought I had purposely come without my costume. Then she sent me home and told me I couldn't have any treats because I was a bad boy. Left completely flabbergasted and confused, I walked home crying and waited for my parents. (I can't imagine my 41/2 year old walking a mile and a half home with a key to our house in this day and age.)

After my Mom and Dad arrived, I informed them of my encounter at school and they purchased a costume for me immediately. I was a barber, with a generic mask and a drawing of a pair of scissors on one pocket and a comb on another. Although it didn't look like "Floyd the Barber" from "The Andy Griffith Show," I was thrilled!

Still unaware of door-to-door trick or treating, my Dad drove me to Joe's Bar & Grill where he would sometimes go after work. Most of the patrons gave me coins, potato chips, and other barroom goodies. I passed on the pickled pigs' feet and sardines that the bartender offered me, and opted instead to play pinball, eat junk food, and drink soda. I felt like a king on top of the world. It turned out to be a very memorable day.

Although I would not consider bringing my boys trick or treating to a tavern today (since I am not a regular at any establishment, and the neighborhood bar seems to be a thing of the past in my town), I sure wish they could experience the delight I had the day my father tried to make up for my anguish. I am sure my children will have their own happy Halloween memories, and I'm glad I'm here to enjoy it with them, making sure they get their treats. That's still what it's all about, isn't it?

-Jim Babjak, Fall 1995