My annual Halloween story:
When I was a kid, we lived way out in the sticks, so we’d go to grandma’s house in town to trick or treat. Perfect neighborhood of bungalow houses, 2–3 blocks long, but with no intersecting cross streets.
At one end lived an old lady, and when she answered the door, she would ask, “Are you kids from the neighborhood?”
Year after year, we would explain that we lived in the country and our grandmother lived ½ block up.
Year after year, we’d get a stale, unwrapped marshmallow instead of a candy bar. Candy was only for the locals.
Imagine that happening today!
That the old lady’s house would remain intact and that the kids would tell the truth.
Year after year.
Opposite end of the spectrum: there was a house around the corner that every year put out a box full of full sized candy bars and a note saying they couldn’t be home, please take one.
And there was always candy in the box!
In the snow, uphill both ways!