Barbara J. Hamby

Holidays

The writing class I attend is for people who are writing life stories, memoirs, or autobiographies. With Halloween approaching, we talked at our last session about holidays and how memorable many of them are. We brainstormed about Halloween events we remember and I recalled one particular one from my childhood.

I think I was eleven. We had moved from California to Medford, Oregon and I was in seventh grade at Medford Junior High because I was ahead of the sixth graders and my parents and the school had agreed that I should skip. I was big for my age, with large and awkward hands and feet. Having lived in small towns in the San Joaquin and Sacramento valleys, my sisters and I had never gone trick or treating. I don’t know if that was because it wasn’t going on in those towns, or we just hadn’t heard about it.

But, in Medford, we lived near the school, and learned about the custom. I was decked out in an old sheet and a mask, with nothing showing but my feet. My sister Bea was probably in costume and with me, but I don’t remember that. We rang the doorbell of a nearby house and several family members came to the door. One turned out to be a classmate of mine, who insisted on trying to figure out who we were. I’ll never forget his loud remark:

“That’s Barbara Fairfield—I’d know those big feet anywhere.”

There have been many memorable Halloween days since then that I may write about later. I don’t remember ever going trick or treating again, until I went along with my children years later.

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