Today is Halloween, which also happens to be one of my favorite holidays to celebrate. I love decorating our house in early October. I love dressing up in costume with my kids. I love passing out candy and trick-or-treating in our neighborhood. I love every single part of it, most likely because as a child I wasn’t allowed to celebrate Halloween at all.
My father was a Pentecostal minister and if any of you were raised Pentecostal you have some idea of what that means. Suffice it to say, Halloween was considered the “Devil’s Holiday” and we couldn’t take any part in it. I begged every single year to dress up for the party at school or go trick-or-treating with my friends but I was never allowed. Along with not celebrating Halloween we also weren’t allowed to listen to secular music (that means anything but Christian radio) or be cheerleaders (I’m still deeply upset because I would have made one heck of a cheering section!) or watch movies above PG. Heck, we didn’t even have cable for most of my childhood.
I spent a good portion of my adolescence despairing over all of these rules and regulations and fighting the battle to respect them when I was out of the house. I remember seeing The Bodyguard (my first Rated R movie) at a slumber party in junior high and being positive my mother would see the evidence of my transgression on my face when I came home the next morning. I have always been terrified of getting into trouble and my nerves couldn’t handle worrying about whether or not I’d be found out. In the end I chose to follow the strict rules rather that fear getting caught. In case you can’t imagine it for yourself, let me spell it out, I was never ever one of the cool kids. I played clarinet in the marching band until high school and I was still in Girl Scouts LONG after other girl’s had their learner’s permit (Shout out to Troop #723!). At the time I was positive that if I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted I could have been much more popular.
Maybe it’s true and maybe it’s not but here’s what I recognize in retrospect. My parents did the best they could with what they had. My childhood wasn’t perfect, but it is what made me who I am today. I don’t point this out as some promotion for a strict religious upbringing. I point it out because if you’re a parent like me you might find yourself in situations where you questioning whether or not you’re doing a good job. If you have teenagers, that moment might come right after one of them screams that you’re ruining their life. In the end, all you can do for your children is the very best you know how to do. Along that journey from birth to eighteen years old you’re going to instill some great things in your kids. You’re probably going to screw up in some areas too, and that’s cool because there is no such thing as perfect. In parenting, in life, in work… perfect is a myth.
I raise my boys very differently than I was raised, but I also incorporate some of tent poles from my own childhood. Faith is the heart of our home, as is a love of big family holidays and cooking. I’m not doing any of those things the same way my parents did, I’m just doing them the best I know how to. That means that we do celebrate Halloween because the grown up version of me believes that if your faith can be rocked by dressing up as a cactus and trick or treating in your neighborhood, it might not have been that strong to start with. That’s the perspective I’ve learned as an adult thanks to the parents who, along with refusing to let me be a cheerleader, happened to raise a daughter to think for herself. ~Rachel
