by Rob Perez

Everyone knows what Halloween is. On October 31 small humans dress up in costumes pretending to be someone else. Then they go door to door, say “trick or treat,” and someone gives them a piece or two of candy. But the thing is, as you get older, Halloween changes.

I have an eight-year-old. She doesn’t wait for October to get into costume. She dresses up year-round.

But she knows on the last day in October she is actually encouraged to dress up. She gets to wear her costume to school. When she comes home, she gets to keep her costume on—or put a new one on—and then go door to door. She says three little words and someone gives her candy.

This day might be the greatest day of her life. Though it also might seem to her that the grown-ups have temporarily lost their minds.

But I also have a fourteen-year-old in the house. And he sees the same day quite differently. Oh, he’s still into candy. It’s just the getting into costume part that’s slowing him down.

You can almost hear the progression. At eight: I get to wear a costume AND YOU GIVE ME CANDY?! At eleven: Obviously I’m going. Free candy. At fourteen: What kind of costume?

Some teenagers go right up to the edge. They come to the door with zero intention of saying “trick or treat.” And they’re not wearing a costume.

“What are you supposed to be?”

“Um, a kid.”

And though you will begrudgingly give them a piece of candy, the disappointment on your face will ensure this is their last Halloween on the streets.

To be clear, the value of candy has not gone down to a teenager. If anything, candy is worth more when you’re older. At eight, your parents control the candy. They ration it. They hide it. Eventually, they dispose of it. The kid, meanwhile, requests a piece for a couple of days until he actually forgets about it.

At fourteen, you don’t forget. You never forget. You know the difference between a fun size and a full size. You know how to trade for the candy you actually want. The candy is still plenty valuable. It’s the price of admission that has changed.

Maybe it’s because this is the age when kids start thinking about identity. Who am I? Who do I want to be? How do I want other people to see me? And when you’re asking those kinds of questions, dressing up as someone else suddenly becomes a much bigger decision.

Which means you have to choose a costume very carefully. Because what happens if you put on a clown suit and look ridiculous? You’re fourteen. Looking ridiculous is very, very bad. But there’s actually a much worse scenario. Because what if you put on a clown suit and somehow look amazing? Now you’re staring at yourself in the mirror thinking, Wait. Am I a clown? And your friends look at you and think, That guy’s a clown. What’s bad about that is it’s not an insult. It’s just an observation.

So at some point, they decide to leave the money on the table—which, in this case, is candy—and step away from the whole thing. No costume. No candy. Fine. Let’s go smash some pumpkins.

So this year, by all means, ooh and aah over the cute costumes. Pretend to be scared by the scary ones. But also notice who’s not at your door. The big kids. They’ve moved on. They’re somewhere beyond Halloween. But their spirit is still felt. And that’s a little spooky, isn’t it?