In the fall of my fifth year, American ways would soon be introduced to me. The world around me was shifting. Retired scarecrows claimed their duty as they stiffly marched out from attics all around town and stood at guard for the families which appointed them. Pumpkins were transformed from bland spheres to jovial faces that chatted with the neighbors and laughed at confused dogs while leaves left their watch posts at the top of trees to join the bustling town down below. Soon enough, this society would welcome me too, and I was ready. My duty in this transformation was to wear a costume. Something called Halloween had arrived to my quiet street of Edgewood Lane.
The pants were the color of warm caramel and the jacket had maple brown spots webbed together with white lines. The hoodie was the head, consisting of big black beaded eyes, fluffy ears, and little horns. I had the complete costume: a giraffe. This would become my new passion, my new responsibility in this community. I practiced and studied how to walk in my costume, diligently whispering the assigned password of “Trick or Treat” whenever I could just to hear the strange words after they had leapt off my tongue. Apparently, if I whispered it just right, people would give me candy after I rang their doorbells. It was minutes before my family would escort me through the street, and my heart was beating like the distant thunder on a warm, humid, night. The neighborhood was about to see the most noble giraffe in the world.
“Anita. It is time for us to go.” I reported to my twin sister. We exchanged a determined look. This was the day we had trained for, we had dreamed about this moment on so many nights. We stood and, already dressed in our costumes, walked out of the door in a brave slow motion as our orange pumpkin baskets swung by our sides. A new tradition in our lives – this concept of trick-or-treating— was about to start for the first time.
Edgewood Lane welcomed us with the sound of thriving, joyous, life. Children screamed, mothers shouted, and giant glowing ghosts pinned to lawns murmured their scary songs, but my determination was unwavering. I marched up to my neighbor’s white house, rang the cold doorbell, and chanted the secret words: “Trick or Treat!”
I gazed up at the man, hoping I said it right, willing the password to glide into his ears like a key into a doorknob and unlock the treasure which he held in his hand, a basket full of candy. Laughing, he and his wife offered me the red plastic basket, and I reached in, seizing my prize: one bite-sized Snickers. I had done my job, I thought, I had done it correctly! But no; the man kept laughing, waving the basket in front of me, pointing inside. I wasn’t prepared for this. I hadn’t trained for these circumstances. I needed assistance with this issue; I knew I couldn’t handle it alone. This needed the prior experience of people who had already worked the field, people wiser than me, and certain people that had conversed with these foreigners: my parents.
As they stepped onto the old whining porch of the couple, my parents explained to me the special circumstances. This couple was offering me more than one piece of candy, something I certainly hadn’t planned for, but I understood. My costume must have impressed them, and Anita’s unicorn costume with shining and glitter-covered wings wasn’t too bad either. With honor, I accepted the trophies awarded to me, and I pulled out a few more pieces of candy, placing them neatly into my pumpkin basket which smiled with delight. My first ever operation was complete.
We weaved through the growing crowd again: blending in with the rest of the costumes but managing to escape through a dark and icy street. We made a small loop around the street and visited a few more houses: One house surrendered Twizzlers, an old lady gave out pennies, and a little boy held a basket as other children attacked him. But not Anita and I, we had to concentrate on our task, we couldn’t diverge. We had no time for that type of nonsense.
My candy basket was soon filled to the rim, and informing my parents, we all agreed that our next target would also be our last. Approaching a tranquil white brick house with a few grinning pumpkins on the porch and a couple chortling scarecrows on the lawn, we again completed the routine. I was an expert now: I said the password with conviction and learned to nod smiling while my parents conversed with the candy givers.
Dragging our tired feet to the door, we marched back inside where we finally plopped down on our little plastic chairs while our parents sat outside, enjoying one of the last fall days as it died like a candle light. Organizing our candy, we completed our last drops of work. Heading off to bed where we would dream of friendly scarecrows and smiling pumpkins, Anita and I had found a new joy in our yet enclosed lives.

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As I throw my back breaking school bag into the huge Toyota SUV, I look at my dad in the driver’s seat. He greets me in accented English, a language he has become accustomed to over the years in America. My parents were born in Czech Republic, a tiny country in the center of Europe, and their nationality can easily be heard after a few words are spoken. As we drive away from the high school, my mom calls me and I greet her in my first language: Czech. While talking, I gaze out my car window. Scarecrows are coming out, pumpkins are being transformed, and the leaves are sailing from the tips of trees. Halloween is arriving to my small town of East Longmeadow, and I cannot help to think about one of my first times trick-or-treating as a little girl in Ohio. That Halloween, my primary language was Czech. Trick-or-treating was a service to my community, I had thought, wearing a costume was a form of dedication to my town and my first job. During my candy-filled night about ten years ago, my sister had been a unicorn and I was a giraffe.