The candles in our jack-o-lanterns had already flickered out by the time the knock came at the door. I quickly checked the time?9:30 p.m.?before peeling myself off the couch and opening the door.
?Trick-or-treat,? said a teenager, awkwardly, holding out an open knapsack. He wore a pirate patch, jeans and a hoody. A friend hovered behind him with a fake knife sticking out of his head.
?What are you supposed to be"? I asked, reaching for what was left of our Halloween candy.
?We?re teenagers,? they said in unison. I scoffed, and dumped a couple caramels and a lollipop into each of their bags, before closing the door and turning out the porch light.
?You shouldn?t have given them anything,? my husband said, opening his umpteenth mini chocolate bar and hitting ?resume play? on Netflix. ?They?re too old to be trick-or-treating.? ?I don?t want them to egg our house,? I said, shrugging.
The truth was, I thought they deserved the candy.
I was dressed as a sock hop girl the last year I went trick-or-treating. I was 15, and knew it would be my final time participating in what I thought was the most glorious night of the year.

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