Because of another commitment, I didn’t get a chance to help out at our house during Trick or Treat night last week. This marked the second straight year I couldn’t check out what cool costumes the kids (and their parents) put together.

I realize my daughter will eventually outgrow trick-or-treating, but I feel better knowing I can live vicariously through the costumes of other people’s children.

I find this very important because it serves as a sort of therapy from a disastrous costume experience I had as a child.

The grade escapes me, but this happened sometime around junior high. I have very clear memories of walking across the stage at my parochial school for the judging at a weekend event with one thought running through my head.

“This was a very bad idea.”

Because of my older siblings, I sometimes had different entertainment interests than other kids. Sure, we would all watch the prime time shows of the late 1970s, but I also learned to appreciate more eclectic programs aimed at an older audience.

In short, I loved “The Gong Show.” Looking back on it, I realize Chuck Barris and the rest of the people behind the show didn’t think of 11-year-old kids when they chose their acts. That didn’t matter to me. My brothers and sisters found it funny, so I liked it too.

That’s how I ended up walking across the stage with a bag over my head to try and imitate The Unknown Comic, one of my Gong Show favorites. I honestly don’t think anyone got the joke. I remember having to explain my costume to a lot of people that night.

I probably would have done better by preparing a bunch of bad, off-color jokes like Murray Langston (the man behind the bag) did. I probably had on a pretty garish outfit like the character, but that had more to do with this taking place in the late 1970s than any planned costume.

Some one probably tried to talk me out of this idea, but I ended up going ahead with it anyway. I have no idea if I went out trick-or-treating with a bag on my head. The memory of the school event has prevented me from remembering anything else.

Oh, except that my mother added insult to injury when she wouldn’t let me eat any popcorn that night because I had recently been sick after eating popcorn, and she didn’t want me to get sick that night too. That is burned into my brain for some reason, probably because I have to admit that there was crying involved, other than the people sad that I chose such a horrible costume.

So I really missed standing on my porch this year and thinking, “why didn’t I think of that costume 30 years ago?” Every once in a while, I think, “Oh, no, this kid might regret that in the long run,” but I try not to go down that road. Too hard for me personally.

I just hope the kids with unfortunate costumes get to eat whatever they want at the end of the night. That’s the least their parents can do.