I’ve never cared much for “adult Halloween.” The costumes, the bars, the noise — it all feels hollow. The night was never meant for us. It’s for the children.

Halloween is one of the last true neighborhood rituals we have. When a child walks up to a stranger’s door and says “Trick or treat!” they’re not just asking for candy. They’re testing the world. They’re learning how to meet it — politely, bravely, face to face. It’s a small, safe rehearsal for the day when they’ll have to walk into a job interview, or shake a hand, or speak to someone unfamiliar without fear.

There’s no switch that turns a timid child into a capable adult. Courage and confidence are built through small, human moments — through the slow apprenticeship of being seen, heard, and received kindly by others. When kids no longer go door to door, when every interaction is managed and contained, they lose that chance to learn. And maybe that’s part of why so many young adults struggle now: no one ever taught them how to knock, how to smile, how to read a stranger’s warmth, how to be part of the world.

Trunk-or-treats have their place, but they don’t teach that. They’re convenient and controlled — safe, yes, but sterile too. When you walk through a real neighborhood at night, something older and deeper happens. The roles reverse. The child makes a demand, and the adult yields. For one night, the balance of power shifts, and the child learns that the world can be both mysterious and kind.

I don’t have children of my own, and I’m new here. But opening my door on Halloween is how I tell the children of this town — and their parents — that we belong to this place, that we are safe people, that our light is a light for them too.

That’s the true beauty of Halloween: it’s a covenant of trust between generations. We, the adults, stand guard in the dark so the children can walk through it without fear. We show them that goodness is still at every doorstep, that courage is rewarded, and that even in the night, light still answers the knock.

Because in a world of darkness, mocking evil is a way of not succumbing to it — not through taboo fascination or fear, but through faith. This is, after all, the eve of All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days: the great vigil before we honor and pray for all who have gone before us, for those who have escaped the everlasting darkness of Hell and are bound for the everlasting light of Heaven.

Christ has come into the world, and He is the Light. The darkness has not overcome it — and it never will. We too are called to be lights to the world, lamps in the darkness.

But a world cannot thrive when its young people no longer know how to interact with adults, or when they think it’s strange for older people to speak to them as if they’re part of the same human family. When that bond breaks, it leaves them unmoored — unable to work, to solve problems, or to make judgments without a jury of their peers.

And now, that “jury” often lives online. Social media has become the crowd people consult for every decision — seeking help, affirmation, or identity without considering the quality of either. But you can’t live that way as a husband, a wife, a business owner, a professional, or a leader. The world cannot function when adults still need the crowd to tell them how to be individuals.

I think that’s part of the allure of socialism, too. When you have a generation taught that individual initiative is dangerous — that all effort must be quietly slipped under the door because everyone you don’t know is a predator, and ringing a doorbell is asking for a grotesque death — you can’t learn how to face rejection or disappointment. And if you can’t do that, you can’t learn to be competitive in any meaningful sense. What’s left is a mild sense of individuality that’s mostly costume — identity — without integrity, the kind that needs no costume at all.

Halloween, rightly lived, pushes back against all of that. It’s a night that restores something good and human — courage, trust, and light shared between generations. So no, I don’t do adult Halloween. I light the porch. I fill the treat bags. I open the door. And for a few hours, I get to be part of the small miracle that keeps the world human — one glowing bag, one brave little knock at a time.

After all, Halloween is “All Hallow’s Eve,” the night before we celebrate the Church Triumphant, the ones who have departed this world and have entered the Kingdom of God, the witnesses of Christ’s triumph over the darkness. Yes, it’s sort of the middle of autumn in the Northern Hemisphere (the halfway point is actually November 5-6ish, not Halloween, so there’s no astrological or spiritual meaning in October 31st), and yes, the night is dark. It wasn’t a pagan holiday co-opted by the Church. While folk traditions have been brought it, there’s just no record that pagans honored their dead on October 31st and every Wiccan and witch celebrating Samhain is actually celebrating a Christian holiday – they may be embracing darkness, but it’s the night we make light of the darkness because while the Light is a Person, the Darkness has personhood too, and we make fun of that darkness because he lost. He’s the first and last loser of all creation. Children have let the darkness know that they don’t fear it, and that no matter how scary or powerful it looks, its an ugly creature on a leash staring at a ticking clock. Satan perverts Halloween because he can’t stand it. Every holiday hurts his pride, but Halloween particularly because the hallowed souls have been saved through God’s grace, and Satan can never harm them again. All Saint’s Day is the day we honor all the unnamed and unknown saints in Heaven. After all, we have the Light of the World, who is the light of all men, and the darkness shall never overcome it.