Day of the Devil
But mamá, this isn’t the devil’s holiday. You just go around asking for candy.
Come ooooooon. Every year I’m the only one at school without any candy.
“Good. You can thank me later when you’re not fat with pimples.”
Mamá, I’m telling you. Trust me. Just let me go out with Miguel for one hour. I promise I won’t do anything to get in trouble.
“No. What is this holiday? Trick or treat? When the kids come by and I ask for a trick they look at me funny. Why do something to celebrate the diablo? No. Not in mi casa. I don’t care if you begin to eat the apple pie instead of my flan, you will not celebrate this holiday.”
Mamá, your flan is the best. You know your flan is the best. I don’t want to eat the apple pie. I just want to go out and get a little bit of candy.
“I know what you want. This is a day for the women to dress like street whores! Why do they do this El Guapo? Why do they do this?”
Mi madre likes to ask me questions only to answer them herself.
“I’ll tell you why they do this. They dress like street whores because it is the devil’s holiday and it is a night of temptation. A night of temptation that mi hijo is going to remain inside giving out the candy.”
Mamá! Why do we give out candy if it is the devil’s holiday? Aren’t you being a bit of a hypocrite?
“Now you call your mother names? The mother who carried you around for 10 months? Maybe I hugged you too much El Guapo. Is this my punishment Díos? Is this how I get repaid?”
Mi madre likes to speak to God who conveniently resides in or around our kitchen ceiling.
Fine. I’ll hand out the candy.
And this is how I spent most of my Halloween nights of my youth. That was until I figured out how to sneak out the back window and go dressed up as “Guatemalan children” with Miguel.