Tax Fraud

 

Our massive neighborhood loves to celebrate Halloween. The loop across from the clubhouse is shut down and security directs traffic around it. If you’re getting home late from work, you may as well bring a pillow and blanket because your wait to just get in the gate is a long one.

The Magnolia Loop hosts all kinds of Halloween antics. There are flash mobs featuring witches, decorated homes that rival Christmas Vacation, and candy for days! Trick-or-treaters wander from house to house, often with mouths agape and bags filled.

Because of all the ruckus, houses like ours, tucked out of the way, rarely—if ever—see any costumed kids. One Halloween, while minding our own business watching TV (probably Below Deck), we heard the familiar ring of the doorbell.

Matty: “Are we expecting visitors?”

Me: “Not at this time of night.”

Matty: “Huh.”

Matty opened the door, and the last words she was expecting to hear were shouted out, “Trick-or-treat!” There stood two kids and their mom. We had left the porch light on, and they followed Halloween etiquette and pulled into our driveway searching for candy.

I’m not sure a ghost could’ve been any paler than we were in that moment. Matty told the kids, “Just one second,” and we both hurried off to the pantry in search of anything to drop in their bags. We collected a few items, handed them off, and, once they had left, we shut the door and turned off the light that signaled we had candy.

Reviewing the Ring camera footage that night, we heard the kids exclaim, “They gave us apples and Pop-Tarts!” They didn’t seem too thrilled. The mom mean-mugged the camera, and I instantly knew we had ruined her Halloween parent tax.

Tax Evasion

 About six years after I was forced to dress as a green alien with a basketball head, I got to choose my costume for Halloween. My choice? Dracula—or more accurately, generic vampire. My costume consisted of a black cape with a red lining, a plaid shirt (because maybe I wanted to be a lumberjack too?) and jeans, oily white face paint, and hard plastic vampire fangs that fit like loose dentures.

We always went trick-or-treating at the Blue Ridge Mall in Hendersonville. I’m sure going from door-to-door in the government housing where we lived presented its own challenges. A lot of kids followed our example, and there was a long line through the mall of Bart Simpsons, Batmen, Terminators, princesses, and other scary monsters holding their plastic pumpkin pails, shiny bags, and even pillow cases collecting candy from the stores.

Then came what I had looked forward to the whole night. A quick drive to World of Clothing! I know—what’s exciting for an 11-year-old at a clothing store? Well, this was no ordinary clothing store. On Halloween it became a Holy Grail. And how did it gain this elevated status??

Through the years, most of my candy consisted of fun size, snack size, and smaller round candies. Made sense to me—economy over presentation. After all, the only investment I had in the whole process was the minimal physical effort of raising my bag and muttering, “Trick-or-Treat!” and then waiting for my prize to hit the bottom of the bag.

The line was wrapped around the parking lot when we finally arrived at the rumored El Dorado. I had never seen such a sight! We took our places at the back and slowly shuffled forward as the line moved. After what seemed like an hour, we were inside the store, snaking around and through the endless clothing racks. We were finally at the front.

“Trick-or-Treat!” I exclaimed through my ill-fitting teeth. Clunk. Huh. That was a little heavier, and I wasn’t sure what kind of candy had a green wrapper. I gingerly reached into my bag to pull out the treat as I tried to keep up while walking back to the car. Aha! There it is! Wait! A full-size Snickers bar and a one-dollar bill?!

The ride home was a little sweeter knowing that I had secured a Halloween unicorn. When we got home, I immediately removed the Snickers and the one-dollar bill from my bag and hid them in my underwear drawer. No way these most fortunate items were going to be parental taxed.

Taxation Without Representation

 

It was late October in 1985. I was just a few months into a mid-day napping, Oreo-eating, coloring-outside-the-lines kindergarten adventure. My parents knew Halloween was coming up soon and had decided to use this holiday to dress me up—and scar me for the rest of my life.

I don’t remember exactly when they purchased the costume, but I do remember the exact day I wore it. It was a fateful Thursday that happened to be the last day of October. My elementary school had decided to let us kindergarteners wear our costumes to school and trick-or-treat to the older kids’ classrooms.

That morning, I was slipped into a slick plastic lime-green overshirt that reeked of a chemical smell, and to round out the costume, lime-green face paint was smeared all over. Sigh, ok, I guess I can deal with this—after all, candy was involved! But what was that? They were coming toward me with a green plastic balloon of some type! It wasn’t my birthday or anyone else’s that I knew of. Wait, hold on! It’s an alien face on the shiny lime-green balloon, and it’s being strapped to the top of my head.

At least there is candy involved was the mantra I repeated at each classroom. I begrudgingly held out my bag as the older students awed and smirked. I held steadfast in my belief that school would soon be over, I would have a mountain of candy, and once home, I would be out of this outfit.

I walked through the front door—and what appeared? My brother in the same costume with what appeared to be a pumpkin on his head!  No, somehow the alien perched atop of him was shiny orange instead of the lime green I had been saddled with. Now there were two of us! And I have to wear this for how much longer? And we’re going to see who? I’m not sure this was worth all the candy in Henderson County.

The next morning, everything returned to normal. I didn’t hear a peep about my costume at school, which gave me the ride home to dream of all the chocolate bars, candy corn, and other sugary sweets I’d be devouring. When I arrived, to my surprise, half of our candy was gone—something about a parental tax.

Roller Coaster, Jitters, and Last Firsts

I remember thinking, I’m too old to be getting nervous for firsts. But there I was, stomach full of butterflies, heading down the road for my first concert date with Matty. I planned for a 3.5-hour drive from my small Brevard apartment to our meeting spot in Atlanta. The trip really took three hours and forty-five minutes to get there as I went right past the exit and had to turn around.

My eyes met hers, and I instantly knew all of the phone calls, video chats, and texts had not done justice to her humor, beauty, and wit. Thankfully, she wanted to drive us to Philips Arena in downtown Atlanta. I was sure that if I had to drive, I would need at least one Valium to make it there on time.

The concert that fateful late-August Friday night? Luke Bryan, with Randy Houser and Dustin Lynch opening. We filed in with the rest of the fans and took our seats in the upper section. The arena darkened, the roadies exited the stage, and the show began. Shortly after Dustin and Randy finished serenading us, it was time for the main event!

Luke was on fire with all of his hits. We were singing and swaying along with each song. Sometime early in the night, our hands had found one another, and with every passing chord, we pulled each other closer. “Roller Coaster” began to play with an accompanying video montage; at that time, I pulled her as close as possible and turned her slightly.

All at once, there we were—the only two people in the arena. With Luke Bryan singing to us, we danced in the aisle, our waists pressed by the plastic chairs. It wasn’t the most elaborate dance—more like an eighth-grade slow dance but without the annoying chaperones.

We were nowhere close enough to the stage to catch the ceremonial tossing of guitar picks and drumsticks, but I came away with something immensely more valuable: a last first-dance song that would eventually become my walk down the aisle.

Loud Music, Free Food, and a Sackful of Savings

 For me, there’s just something about walking into a house and smelling spaghetti and meatballs cooking on the stove. Add in a background whiff of garlic bread in the oven, and it’s perfect. I have always connected memories to homemade, carefully crafted family meals. I’ve also tied memories to music, whether it be in the background, someone singing “Happy Birthday”, or in a smoky, cramped, loud as can be concert venue.

My first concert was at the Asheville Civic Center and that’s where both of my passions collided. Mom had let us know a couple of weeks in advance that we’d be going to the Ingles Food Show. Being a little Philip, I didn’t quite understand what that meant, but I was game! After all, I knew the song “Wink”, and anything with food in the title couldn’t be that bad.

The day came and after a small trip through the tightly squeezed downtown streets of Asheville, NC, we had arrived at our destination. A small wait in line and we were inside and in the floor area of the Civic Center. And I was not prepared for what my eyes were seeing!  Tables of food everywhere! And at the other end? A stage with speakers taller than any man I had ever seen. Mom quickly grabbed us by the hands and gave us our instructions, we were to collect as many coupons as possible. Aha, the catch, this was a work opportunity.

With our instructions, we were out of the gate faster than an NHRA dragster that just saw the green light. With our prior expertise of collecting samples from the vendors at the flea market weekly, we didn’t need much direction. I stuffed myself with cheeses, crackers, cookies, deli meats, cereals (hey, it didn’t matter, it was 6pm!), and all other kinds of bite-sized treats. Along the way, my white plastic bag became overstuffed with handfuls of coupons, surveys, and glossy slippery ads. 

Suddenly, the lights began to dim and Mom pulled us to our seats in the upper section. Out strolled a lanky cowboy in a white hat and dark denim and the music started. It was loud! Probably the loudest music in the world. I pressed against the railing, drawing myself as close as possible to the spectacle. Looking down, there were people still on the floor amongst the vendors, they fearlessly were dancing, shouting, and singing. How do I get there??

After a few songs, the lights began to come on and Neal McCoy was thanking everyone for coming out. Something very unexpected happened next, he threw something from the stage. The people crowded amongst the tables began to scramble for it. Was it money?? Chocolate?? Ninja Turtle action figures?? Now the drummer was throwing something out too!! Ugh! I thought for a second if I climbed over the railing, I could probably drop to the concrete floor below, and, barring injury or death, grab my own souvenir which could possibly even be a WCW wrestling VHS tape!  But, being the great mom that she is, she stopped me from joining the chaos.

The trip home I was filled with Oreos, Cheez-Its, Oscar Mayer Bologna, excitement, and a slight feeling of missing out. I’m not sure what coveted item everyone down there had to have, but I knew that one day I would get upgraded to floor seats, find out—and I would get it myself.