One of my favorite holidays is Halloween. I love the weather, the costumes, the fall colors and the whole idea of going door to door and filling a plastic pumpkin full of free candy. I’m well into my 30s now, with kids of my own, but I still get a rush taking them trick or treating and wading through all the loot at the end of the night.

When I was growing up, our neighborhood was known for the “good” candy — lots of chocolate (one crazy childless couple gave out full-size Kit Kats every year!) and no raisin boxes or toothbrushes. Our neighborhood had such a reputation for the “good stuff” that literally van-loads of kids would come to partake in the joys of trick or treating. The year my parents sprung it on us that we were going to be spending All Hallows’ Eve in Little Rock at my great-great-aunt Meachie’s house was the year all my candy-induced Halloween dreams were shattered.

Meachie (a nickname that a family member gave her ages ago) lived in a small apartment in Hillcrest at the end of Cedar Street. I didn’t grow up in Little Rock, so when I moved here in 1999, I loved driving through the neighborhood and remembering our visits, when we walked to Safeway, stockpiled Yarnell’s ice cream and then ate it on Meachie’s balcony, which overlooked the winding road of Cedar Hill. We had the best times at her house, eating sweets we could never have at home, making pallets in the living room and watching "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson".

But on this particular night, I was none too excited to be visiting Meachie. Her neighbors were older, lived alone, rarely saw children and definitely, most certainly had no idea that the biggest night of the year in a kid’s life was Halloween. Our holiday nightmare took a turn for the worse when Meachie proclaimed that she didn’t really believe in trick or treating and instead we would be “treating” that night. This meant that my sister and I were going to give away candy to the same people who were supposed to be filling our pumpkins.

As we knocked on doors around the apartment circle, our bags of candy were getting lighter and lighter, but our pumpkins were becoming surprisingly full. Meachie’s neighbors were so thrilled at the gift we gave them (candy, of course, but I suspect much more) that they found anything they could to give us something in return — peppermint candy from the early ‘70s, cross-stitch creations, homemade cookies, money and much more.

Back at Meachie’s, Becca and I sorted through our haul, eating our weight in homemade delectables and counting our life savings. Unbeknown to us, we were being taught an important life lesson on the least likely of nights: give and it shall be given to you. That was Meachie’s style — to pass on a valuable lesson in a memorable yet subtle way. Now, if only I can do the same.