I’m not a huge fan of Halloween.
There are several reasons why—but the biggest one is clowns.
Statistically, there are more clowns out on Halloween than any other night of the year.
If you don’t believe me, Google it and see for yourself!
Okay, okay—that’s not entirely correct.
According to Google, clown costumes ranked number three in the top five Halloween costumes of 2024.
So maybe no one has done a formal statistical study comparing the number of clowns on Halloween versus, say, a typical Tuesday. But logically speaking, it’s very likely there are more clowns out on Halloween than any other night.
And if you don’t agree, that’s fine—but my reasoning stands.
And I’m a scientist, which means I’m always right. HA!
Obviously, I know scientists aren’t always right. I mean, we’ve all seen the recent news about Tylenol and autism, right?
But I digress.
Clowns are horrifying.
And they’re out on Halloween in higher numbers.
Therefore—by simple logic—Halloween is the worst holiday.
But despite my dislike of clowns (there’s a whole separate blog post there), I still took my kids trick-or-treating every year.
And honestly? It was fun.
We live in a neighborhood full of dead-end streets that loop together into one big circle.
We’d get the kids dressed, load them into the wagon, and off we’d go—miniature Spider-Men (Spider-Mans?), princesses, pirates, and skeletons in tow.
We’d trick-or-treat our way through the neighborhood. Friends would join us, and the kids would run from house to house.
(I was always that mean mom who wouldn’t let them run too far ahead.)
The kids would collect so much candy that we kept pillowcases in the wagon so they could empty their full buckets. It was chaos—in the best way… it would’ve been the very best way without the clowns.
It always blew my mind because when I was a kid, we were lucky to hit ten houses. I grew up on a dirt road where the houses were far apart. “Quality trick-or-treating” was… challenging.
(And before you ask: no, we did not have an outhouse, and yes, we had running water.)
The most interesting part of Halloween, though, was Nick’s reaction.
If you’re new here, you need to know my family is neurodiverse. Mae enjoyed trick-or-treating and happily went from house to house. It was nice because one of her best friends lived in the neighborhood, so we’d meet up with her family.
Nick just didn’t understand Halloween. We’d go to a door, ring the bell, and when someone opened it, Nick would try to walk right into the house.
I’d grab him and say, “No, Buddy—we’re just trick-or-treating, not visiting.”
Then we’d move on to the next house… and he’d try again. It went this way, house after house.
Once I really thought about it, his confusion made perfect sense to me.
When do you knock on a door, yell something at the homeowners, get candy, and leave?
Other than Halloween—probably almost never.
(I say “almost” because there’s always that one person who’ll say, “I did that once…”)
Point is—it’s just not normal. When you really think about it, it’s a pretty weird tradition, even when you know the origin behind it.
And for a kid with autism, it must be even stranger.
Once Nick could speak, he’d ask me, “Why do we do this?”
And I’d say, “Because it’s Halloween.”
I mean—what other answer did I have?
By age ten, Nick had mostly given up on trick-or-treating. Which didn’t surprise me.
He’s just not a person who enjoys doing things he deems stupid.
I mean, who does? But Nick seemed to have an adverse reaction to it.
Mae was about fifteen when Nick was ten, so she no longer wanted to trick-or-treat with us. She went with her friends. And Nick? He just didn’t want to go.
In the two or three previous Halloweens, he’d willingly gone to about five houses—and then he was done.
It was kind of hard to watch him struggle to enjoy an experience most kids love.
I mean, the night ends with a pillowcase full of candy!
But Nick struggled with a lot of “normal” childhood experiences. (Just wait until you hear his Santa story!)
It was sometimes sad to see him wrestle with things that are supposed to be fun.
I almost always managed to convince him to try new things. (Except new foods—only Meme could get him to do that. He’d have made a worse caveman than me! If you don’t get that reference, go read my Seeds, Berries, and Nope post.)
I often rewarded him for trying new things, especially big ones; honestly, it was a bribe.
My mum always corrected me, saying, “It’s an incentive.”
No, Mum—it was a bribe! HaHa!
On a serious note: please be kind when you open the door for trick-or-treaters tomorrow night.
There are kids with anxiety, autism, and ADHD/ADD knocking on your door. Sometimes those kids might come across as rude—but maybe give that “rude” kid the benefit of the doubt.
And for the kids who don’t say “trick or treat,” maybe they can’t.
Maybe they’re nonverbal, or shy, or overwhelmed by all the weirdness that comes with this holiday.
🎃 Happy Halloween!
⭐ Like, Share & Subscribe
⭐ Enjoyed this story?
Go ahead and hit that ⭐ — it helps more readers find my little corner of chaos and clowns.
Share this post if it made you laugh, think, or reconsider your feelings about Halloween (and clowns).
And don’t forget to subscribe — because around here, logic, laughter, and parenting collide in the most unexpected ways.
Brain Fog & Brilliance 
Leave a Reply