My case against destination trick-or-treating
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Illustration: Sarah Grillo/Axios
Every year on Nov. 1, social media fills with complaints of disappointing trick-or-treat turnout.
Why it matters: Halloween can be a fantastic chance to bond with neighbors and sustain intergenerational friendships — if kids actually show up on the street where they live.
The big picture: Folks typically blame overprotective parents, trunk-or-treats and the general fraying of social fabric for their empty stoops.
Between the lines: There also are simply fewer kids in Salt Lake — as illustrated by the many school closures.
Yes, but: That doesn't explain a neighborhood like mine getting 40 trick-or-treaters on a Friday last year, just a decade after more than 120 turned out on a Monday school night.
I can guess where the kids have gone: Windsor Street.
- That's the cutesy block just to my north, where there are no driveways, the houses are close together, and residents barricade the road for food trucks and throngs of families on Halloween.
Zoom out: There have long been destination trick-or-treat neighborhoods.
- Some, like the island at Daybreak or West Jordan's Tuft Court, have fought hard for the honor, with huge decorations, full-sized candy bars, outdoor movies, DJ stands and cocktails for parents.
Meanwhile, others inexplicably draw hundreds of kids even though the sad little DumDums run out before 8pm, and kids get yelled at for knocking twice if they happen to be wearing the same costume as someone else.
The bottom line: Before hauling the fam to another ZIP code, at least scan your street for lit pumpkins and let the neighbors coo over your kiddos' getups.
- They probably have better candy than a lot of so-called "Halloween Streets."
Caveat: If your neighborhood doesn't have sidewalks, you'll probably have to take the L and plan on snacking on leftover candy until Thanksgiving.