It’s inevitable that whenever there is change, a curmudgeon somewhere will espouse the virtues of the “good old days” to deride the present. I guess I am officially old and grumpy, because I object to Halloween being sanitized.

We had nine costumed visitors on Halloween night; I would have preferred 50. We live in a neighborhood that is full of kids, and we did see a lot of them. The ones I worry about are those who go exclusively to “safer” venues like downtown businesses and trunk-or-treats. While I appreciate the convenience of these gatherings for truly rural or high-crime areas, I mourn the fun that these children are missing. The excitement of venturing out in the dark, the chance to converse with neighbors, and the anticipation of each door opening are all missing in these closely supervised events. I fear that the more we micromanage our children, the less independent they become.

Of course, some less endearing traditions have also faded away. In the ’70s, I remember the boys sending the middle school girls into local stores to buy shaving cream. We thought we were clever when we nonchalantly announced, “Our legs are hairy, we need to shave.” Somehow, the boys thought that line was more believable than eliminating the peach fuzz hovering on their upper lips.

Rumor had it that the police would fine any kid caught with contraband — $10 an egg, $25 for a can of shaving cream. Despite the risks, there were stashes hidden in culverts, woodpiles, and garages throughout town. Pumpkins were smashed; toilet paper was strewn, and occasionally, pranks became vandalism. So maybe extreme parental control has more to do with protecting the town from the kids and less to do with protecting the kids from danger.

Of course, every generation believes their traditions were not only the best, but also the original ones. So, I was surprised last year when Tom Delahant brought up a practice that I had never heard of: Trick-or-treating on Thanksgiving. While he had never participated and wasn’t even sure it was correct, he remembered his mother speaking of it. Intrigued, I asked a slew of older and perhaps wiser people, none of whom had ever heard of such a thing. I’ll admit that I began to question Tom’s memory, but then I did a bit more research, and his story was confirmed.

It’s easy to forget that Thanksgiving hasn’t always existed. When Lincoln proclaimed a holiday in 1863, it provided a rare day off for both parents and children. In New York City, this quickly evolved into children engaging in pranks, dressing in oversized worn-out clothing, face paint, or masks, then reciting the line, “Anything for Thanksgiving?”

While begging for pennies, apples, and candy began in neighborhoods, as the tradition became more popular it spread.

By the 1920s, children dressed up and accosted strangers on the streets, frequently playing tricks on those who didn’t supply a treat. Thanksgiving, at least in New York City, was also known as Ragamuffin Day.

Although this tradition became well-established, the elite weren’t thrilled with thousands of children clogging the streets with their antics.

The Great Depression and the disapproval of the upper class killed off this ritual.

Children dressed like bums and begging for handouts hit too close to home during the 1930s. Even before that, kids were wrangled into Ragamuffin parades which were tamer and controlled. Although the costumes grew more elaborate, adding to the popularity of this new tradition, these eventually disappeared. They were replaced by the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, which began small and grew each year. The last Ragamuffin parades died out in the 1950s, just about when Halloween became popular.

So, what will become of our Thanksgiving traditions? The Turkey Trots, Macy’s Parade, The National Dog Show, feasting with family, and watching way too much football? Are they destined to become obsolete and forgotten? Some day will we be telling nursing home orderlies, “I don’t understand these new customs. In my day we …?” It’s probably inevitable, but that’s not necessarily bad.

As Ray Bradbury pointed out in “Dandelion Wine”:

“Sunsets we always liked because they only happen once and go away.”

“But, Lena, that’s sad.”

“No, if the sunset stayed and we got bored, that would be a real sadness.”