The International Writers Magazine: German Life

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New Family on the Block My first German Halloween - getting to know the zombies on our street • Lois Tietzel Ok, so I had been deprived of the anual sugar overdose that most American kids jubilantly suffer from on the 1st of November, but that didn't mean I was going to miss out now. (Raised quitely and dutifuly, very Christian.) And my daughter is definatley going to experience the gleeful excitement of getting all dressed up to go get candy dumped in her plastic pumpkin. A funny tradition, and maybe one that some people would like to ignore, one that Europeans are sceptical of and lable “stupid American”, yes, but a tradition nevertheless.

This said, I was all geared up and “gung ho” for Halloween 2007 in our new home in a little town in Northern Germany. My six month old daughter was going to have a lady bug costume – complete with a little hat with antenne and black booties – and I ... hmmm... was going to be something cute and pretty and flowy and, well, we'll just have to see what I come up with. 

Since we were new to the neighborhood, you don't really get out much with a six month old and especially because the Germans have a funny interpretation of things American, we didn't know what to expect for this particular festivity. If most Germans – and most Europeans – eat a hamburger with a knife and fork and think Macdonalds is eating out, what would they do with Halloween? What kind of costumes are they going to have? Is it going to be all Pirates and Pippy-Long-Stockings or the gross gory stuff? Oh, boy. (Even I get a little creeped out when there's this fake bloody gooy monster standing there smiling “trick or treat”.) 

After I decided that the easiest and fasted costume would be a cat, I threw it together the night before, throwing the cherished vision of my little baby as the loveliest lady bug this side of the pond out the window: too much to do and too little time to hunt or sadly impersonate that costume. Simplify. Good thing. My husband decided to be a baseball player – not difficult being that he plays baseball. (nod)

Now the scene is set, the candy all in bowls in a row, the stockings are making a great cat tale and the sun is setting. I am getting so excited, I can't stand the suspense any more - jumping around the house, giddy. Baby nods off at her usual early time leaving us to our own demises. 

Since it gets dark at about 5 o'clock, I expect most of the kids to come around then so their parents don't worry. Wrong. Around 7pm the giddyness has fizzled, the friz is fried – not a single trick-or-treater and not even a sound of happy chatter outside on the street. The candles outside along the walk are slowly sputtering out and my excitement has dwindled to a puddle of dissapointment. 

Just before I was about to go sulk behind a chair (remember I am a cat), “ding dong!” the door bell rings. I jump up, squeal (yes, squeal) and fling open the door to find two pairs of wide eyes encircled in dark black. The eyes belong to two 12 year old girls, their hair sprayed and tangled. I don't care. Not until they impatiently shift their feet do I realize that they have already said “Saueres oder Süßes!” (“Trick or Treat!” in German) and that I have just been grinning at them from ear to ear, staring. Oh! After taking only one piece of candy each (seriously – one!), I ask them nicely what exactly they are “Goths!”, they chorus, beaming. Still beaming right back at them, I bid a fun evening and triumphantly close the door. 

That was the begining and end of my Halloween night. The baby woke up hungry and I layed there nursing her while I heard my husband give a group of kids more candy, each one taking only a few pieces. My husband had to almost push the other candy and party favors on them. But even though we only had those two groups, I felt so American and so at home in our foreign neighborhood, in our foreign town in this foreign country called Deutschland.

© Lois Tietzel April 2008
loistietzel@yahoo.de
Lois Tietzel lives in Northern Germany, writing and painting many of her experiences as a volutarily displaced American.

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