Growing up, I loved every holiday.
Valentine cards, chocolate Easter bunnies, Fourth of July fireworks, Thanksgiving turkey, Christmas presents, New Year’s noisemakers and goofy hats — I was all in.
Looking back, I realize every holiday came with a responsibility attached.
Cards to write. Church to attend. Gifts to buy. Food to cook. Plans to make.
The only perk? School usually let us out for the big ones — a small mercy in a year full of pop quizzes and cafeteria mystery meat.
Meanwhile, my friends were being swept off to different churches for the solemn parts of the season, and I was just thinking about candy, explosions, or presents — depending on the month.
And that’s exactly why Halloween eventually stole my whole heart.
Valentine’s Day? Mostly cards and overcrowded restaurants. Try booking a romantic dinner on February 14th — you might as well pull up a chair in the back of a cattle truck. Not quite that bad… but close.
The 4th of July used to be my favorite as a kid — fireworks, smoke, explosions, the whole “we might lose a finger but it’s worth it” vibe. But somewhere along the way adulthood kicked in.
Suddenly I’m lighting sparklers with one hand and checking my alarm clock with the other because I have work in the morning.
And the neighbors? They save the big boomers for 12:30 a.m., just to remind me that joy now comes with consequences.
The dogs are panicking, the house is shaking, and I’m standing in the kitchen whispering,
“This was more fun when I didn’t have responsibilities.”
Christmas? Don’t get me wrong, it’s great. I love the gift-giving, the months of hunting for the right present, checking lists, second-guessing myself, and eventually landing on something that (hopefully) fits. Honestly, people should come with a registered list that includes sizes. More on that another day.
When I was a kid, my mom was a Black Friday fiend. That woman could shop like a major leaguer. Looking back, it was less “shopping spree” and more “marathon with shopping carts.” Fun in the same way running wind sprints are “fun.”
New Year’s is solid too — a few parties, fewer cards, and the midnight kiss if you’re lucky. But by then, as an introvert, my social battery is flashing red. I’m usually done with people until March.
But Halloween? Jack Skellington had it right.
It’s the perfect holiday. No cards. Candy everywhere. Costumes. Parties. Absolute chaos in the best possible way. The biggest challenge is choosing what to dress as — 80s throwback? Movie character? Something spooky? Something ridiculous?
One of the best costume nights I ever had wasn’t even on Halloween — it was for a birthday party.
A physical therapist named Spencer was turning… I don’t remember what age, but he was young, thin, and always good-natured. So his coworkers built him a scavenger hunt: go around town picking up pieces of his costume. He collected a rope, hat, vest, and a six-shooter, totally baffled about who he was supposed to be.
The final stop was McDonald’s — back room reserved, kids’ entertainment center vibe.
We were waiting for him in full costume.
Spencer walked in, and a kid immediately shouted, “Woody!”
We were all Toy Story characters.
The other therapist showed up as Buzz Lightyear. Then came Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head, two coworkers as Slinky Dog, my wife as Bo Peep — and me as her sheep.
It was ridiculous and perfect.
Halloween is joy without expectation.
Maybe that’s why I love it so much. It reminds me that joy doesn’t have to be polished or expensive or perfect.
Sometimes it’s just your friends in ridiculous costumes, a kid yelling “Woody!” in the middle of McDonald’s, and the feeling that — for one night — we all get to play again.
Closing Thoughts
Maybe that’s the real magic of Halloween — it asks nothing of us. No cards to write, no sermons to sit through, no frantic shopping lists or perfectly-timed fireworks. Just a night where the rules loosen, adulthood steps aside, and joy gets a little breathing room.
It reminds me that delight doesn’t have to be planned or polished. Sometimes it’s a room full of grown adults dressed as plastic toys. Sometimes it’s a kid yelling “Woody!” in McDonald’s. Sometimes it’s the simple permission to be weird with your people.
If I can hold onto that kind of joy — the unpolished, expectation-free kind — then I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Thanks for reading.
— Dennis D. Montoya
Stories Forged in Ink & Ash
Author Note
Dennis D. Montoya writes fantasy and literary essays exploring connection, memory, and the small moments that make us human. He’s also a nurse, a veteran, and a firm believer that adults should dress up more often — ideally with less responsibility attached.
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