When I was growing up our neighborhood teemed with kids around my age. On the other end of the spectrum were widowed older ladies who doted on children. It was a veritable gold-mine situation on holidays - Halloween in particular. Halloween night meant about five or six 'haunted houses.' We youngsters were already jacked up from parties at school, where we dressed in our costumes for that night and exchanged candy, and ate the cupcakes and cookies bought for the classroom. That night we seldom ate dinner, just picked at our meal and anticipated popcorn balls, mulled cider, candied and caramel apples, and CANDY galore that we were allowed to shovel to our bag by the fist-full. One house handed out rolls of shiny quarters!
Dad being an architect meant he liked to put his creative bent into some of our earlier costumes, before we got old enough to choose our own outfits. One Halloween I remember towing a white cardboard church as tall as a trike behind me. It had 'stained glass' windows we made from ironing crayon shavings between layers of wax paper pressed together. (Turned out great). The church was illuminated by a large flashlight positioned inside, which made the windows glow as I trailed it behind me while it rolled along on a wheeled platform.
Another Halloween when I was nine, he turned me into a cardinal (the bird), with large cardboard cutout wings with feathers attached and a paper mache head it took a few weeks to create. It was quite effective. I ended up hating that costume. The head was cumbersome and hot, and I couldn't see well through the 'beak.' And at every stop I was retained by adoring blue hairs, "Fred! Fred come see! And get the camera!" As my gang flitted away to the next house, I had to skip a few houses to race to join up with them a few houses ahead. Curses! I moaned everytime I was oohed and aahhed over. This costume was donated to our children's theater's costume department afterwards. From that time on, I have never worn another mask of any kind.