Month: November 2019

Most people, I think, don’t really appreciate Thanksgiving as much as they could, or should. For most – again, as I see it – it’s a day to gather with family, to eat a delicious meal together, and to be vaguely thankful for various things. Maybe I’m projecting, because that’s certainly what I used to think Thanksgiving was.

Boring, mostly. Wholesome, sure, but not a holiday with teeth like Halloween or Christmas.

As usual, I was wrong.

What changed Thanksgiving for me was learning about the first Thanksgiving. See, history is a remarkable tool. It gives context to things. It lends weight. By understanding the origins of things, how they came to be, you understand what they’re truly for, and how they can best be used and appreciated. In other words, history is the best tool I know of for giving our world meaning. Including things like Thanksgiving.

You must understand, the first Thanksgiving was not Pilgrims and Indians gathering together in peace in order to celebrate the harvest. That’s a story we tell children, and like many stories, the real world is much more complicated and much more interesting. The feast at Plymouth did happen – I’m reasonably sure – but it was not repeated and it did not become a yearly tradition. That is to say, it was merely a thanksgiving, not Thanksgiving as we know it. Was it the first? Undoubtedly not – harvest feasts and festivals are known in every culture around the world, including Native American. The only thing Plymouth Rock could possibly be first in was the first time Europeans celebrated a thanksgiving in North America. Except, wait, there was already an English colony in Virginia that had been having thanksgivings for years, and we have records of the Spanish and even the French from decades before Plymouth. So Plymouth really isn’t the first anything, except, possibly, the first thanksgiving by religious refugees in Massachusetts. Super boring.

No, after Plymouth, Thanksgiving died away, with sporadic revivals here and there, but it was always a one-time thing. Presidents would proclaim them for various reasons – the defeat of a rebellion here, an invasion repulsed there – and people would celebrate, and life would roll on. Thanksgiving did not enter our pantheon of holidays until 1863.

The height of the Civil War.

Woah. That means something.

The most important thing in any history is context. What was happening at the time of the events described? What was the world the people lived in like? What did they think, what did they believe? What did they love and cherish, what were their hopes? What did they fear? You can’t understand a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes, if I may borrow from Harper Lee, and you can’t understand history until you can open up your eyes in that time and look around the world some. So let me give you the context here.

On October 3, 1863, Abraham Lincoln issued a proclamation that officially established a regular Thanksgiving on the final Thursday of each November. Now, Lincoln was in his third year as President and he was not very well-liked. A rail-thin politician from Illinois, he had catapulted to the Presidency in 1860 despite an almost total lack of experience or much record of accomplishment beyond a gift for rhetoric. Imagine an even less-experienced Barack Obama and you’ve about got the picture. His Cabinet was largely staffed by political rivals eager to undercut the young President at any turn, France in Mexico and Britain in Canada were continuous problems, the Sioux out west were restless…oh, and half the country was awash in the fire and blood of rebellion.

I don’t think people today realize how monumental the Civil War was, but for me, for nearly 25 years now, it has been my lodestone – the one piece of American history I always come back to. My interests in other things wax and wane – Rome, Byzantium, China, World War 2, the Cold War – but I always return to the Civil War. It has a grip on my imagination like no other period.

Because it was the moment America could have failed.

We were right on the brink, friends. There were a thousand ways the war could have gone differently. A thousand different paths that all lead to an independent South and, ultimately, the shattering of the great Republic and the end of the American dream. Make no mistake – those were the stakes. The war may have started over secession, provoked by the great question of slavery, but defeat for the Union cause would not merely have meant probable decades more of bondage for the millions of African-Americans living south of the Mason-Dixon line, but also the failure of the first truly great experiment in self-government in history.

Lincoln knew the score. He said:

 It is not merely for to-day, but for all time to come that we should perpetuate for our children’s children this great and free government, which we have enjoyed all our lives. I beg you to remember this, not merely for my sake, but for yours. I happen temporarily to occupy this big White House. I am a living witness that any one of your children may look to come here as my father’s child has. It is in order that each of you may have through this free government which we have enjoyed, an open field and a fair chance for your industry, enterprise and intelligence; that you may all have equal privileges in the race of life, with all its desirable human aspirations. It is for this the struggle should be maintained, that we may not lose our birthright–not only for one, but for two or three years. The nation is worth fighting for, to secure such an inestimable jewel.

Speech to the One Hundred Sixty-sixth Ohio Regiment
Washington, D.C.
August 22, 1864

The idea that we all have value. That no man is born better than another. That any one of us worthy to rise and go as far as our abilities can carry us – in 1863, there was no place outside the United States where that was true. It truly is “an inestimable jewel.” And so the Union was worth fighting for.

The Civil War is an American Iliad, four bloody years of struggle and turmoil. By the end of it entire states were laid to waste – smoky pillars rising towards the sky all across the formerly fertile and prosperous fields of the South. Hundreds of thousands of Americans lay dead, in battlefield cemeteries and outside pestilential war-camps spanning half a continent. There were deeds done of great heroism, on both sides – and villainy. You have colorful characters – instead of Hector and Achilles, Ajax and Nestor, Priam and Odysseus, you have men like Lee and Grant, Nathan Bedford Forest and Stonewall Jackson, Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis, every man doing his utmost to fulfill his duty as he saw it. You have tragedies of brothers literally killing each other on the same battlefield, best friends falling side by side – and the occasional comedy like two one-legged veterans meeting after the war, discovering they had the same shoe size, and vowing to buy the same pair and split ’em up forever after. It was at once America’s darkest hour and perhaps our most heroic.

That is the context that Lincoln proclaimed a day of Thanksgiving. 1863 had been the most tumultuous year yet. It had opened in January with bloody battles in Tennessee and with the Emancipation Proclamation (which promptly stiffened Confederate resistance even further). As winter turned to spring, the great Army of the Potomac had launched itself once more against Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, with twice the numbers of its Southern foe – and once again it had been driven back, reeling and bloodied, this time in less than four days of fighting. And out west, Grant was stuck in the mud opposite Vicksburg, a Confederate fortress city that had defied all efforts to capture it for six months. As summer turned, the Confederates had flooded north into Maryland and Pennsylvania, the invasion climaxing in the titanic Battle of Gettysburg – the largest and bloodiest battle ever fought in the Western Hemisphere – while Grant had boldly outflanked and outfought 3 separate Confederate armies around Vicksburg and at last forced the surrender.

But you mustn’t be deceived. The war was not over, and Lincoln did not issue his proclamation in the aftermath of victory. Dixie had rallied. Lee was not destroyed and was as strong as ever behind Virginia’s swift-running rivers. Grant bogged down again Mississippi. And two weeks before the proclamation, in Tennessee, an entire Federal army had been bloodied and beaten at Chickamauga and even as Lincoln penned the words, stood on the brink of total destruction, surrounded and starving in the city of Chattanooga.

That is the context of the first Thanksgiving. Torn by war, hampered by bloodshed, surrounded by hostile foreign powers, Lincoln proclaimed a day of thanksgiving and praise for the blessings of the Mot High. Because no matter how dark the hour, no matter how many troubles you may face, there is still much to be grateful for.

Thanksgiving is a holiday with teeth, my friends.

Below I have placed the whole text of the original proclamation. If you’ve never read it before, I highly recommend you give it a look.

But above all else, remember this this Thanksgiving: life isn’t always going to be perfect. In fact, it never will be. We’ll always have stress from our jobs. Stress with our family. My relationships aren’t going the way I thought they’d be, and this isn’t where I thought I’d be at thirty. The nation’s politics seem more divisive than ever, and every day the news shows us more reasons to be afraid, more reasons to be upset, more reasons to be dissatisfied with the state of the world. But none of those things are a reason not to be grateful.

In fact, it’s in times like those that we need to be grateful most of all.

“Do not doubt: in this world you will face trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world!”

John 16:33

I’m thankful for many things, but this year, I’m especially thankful for Thanksgiving.

Washington, D.C.
October 3, 1863

By the President of the United States of America.

A Proclamation.

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God.

In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union.

Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People.

I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the City of Washington, this Third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the United States the Eighty-eighth.

By the President: Abraham Lincoln

William H. Seward,
Secretary of State

“No, I want it on this card,” I said, exasperated and glancing at the clock. “On the back, here, in a little chip! I’ve seen it!”

The teller looked at me in helpless embarrasment, carefully maintaining the friendly smile on her face – but I could see underneath she was desperately trying to work out what the crazy foreigner was ranting about. FInally, she tentatively ventured, “T-Money card not here, only convenience store!” She also crossed her hands in an X gesture, in case I couldn’t follow.

I sighed. “No, not a T-money card, I want a bank card that I can use – look, I know this is possible, I’ve seen other people with these cards!”

Another helpless stare for a few seconds. Finally, “…not for foreigners!”

“But I’ve seen foreigners – people I know 100% to be foreigners, they’re my friends – with this card, and….and your English isn’t nearly good enough follow me, is it?”

The teller looked at me in bewildered good cheer (and a hint of terror, as if I were going to lunge across the desk and attempt to throttle her in my frustration). I sighed again, and gave up.

As I settled into Korea, many things became easier and part of my daily routine. Other, smaller annoyances remained, perpetually exacerbated by the language barrier (which I am slowly but surely chipping away at). One such inconvenience was the bus system – either I had to have a couple of thousand won in small bills ready, or I had to use my transport card. Now, the card was easy enough to refill at any convenience store, but I needed cash for that as well, meaning if I was going to get around I needed a perpetual supply of ready cash on me, which I hate. Not a great inconvenience, in the grand scheme of things, but one I didn’t necessarily have to put up with. Some of my friends had transport cards built right into their bank cards – one swipe of the debit card and the fare came right out their account. Super easy, barely an inconvenience. So I set out to get one of my own.

Only to bounce off a brick wall at the bank.

Korean banks keep, well, banker’s hours – 9-4 every day, and no weekends. Since I work from 8 – 4:40 every day, getting to any bank is difficult. There are small branches everywhere, of course, but most serious business needs to be done at a center, and those can be hours away by bus. Not practical to get there without taking a full day off.

I am lucky, however – NH Bank, my local bank, happens to keep a center in the Gwangju metropolitan government offices, right across the street from my school.

So one lunch break I slipped in, intending to obtain my card and get out. Things did not go so well.

My first attempt – As I approached the building, hundreds of well-dressed Koreans flooded out and started milling around the sidewalk. I glanced around in confusion, but there were no alarms ringing, and the front doors were open. A pair of policemen intercepted me in the lobby.

“No,” one of them growled. “No building.”

“Not even the bank?” I said, haplessly gesturing across the lobby to the center’s doors. He shook his head.

“No. You come back later.”

“Do you know how much later?” I said. Blank stare. “Er…hang on, uh…” I dug around in the recesses of my brain. Korean verbs aren’t conjugated according ot person and number, like English verbs, but rather according to other bits of essential information like the relative social status of the speakers, one’s attitude toward the recipient, relations of cause and effect to other parts of the sentence, and of course the word’s own status as something one IS doing, something one NEEDS to do, something one is doing IN ADDITION to something else, and so on.

I often need to write my verbs out on a bit of paper to make sure I’ve got it all right before I dare say it aloud, but no such luck here.

“몇시에 돌아와야합니까?”

“30 분 정도.”

“Eh?” I said. I recognized the phrase “sam-ship” at the start, which meant “three-ten” or “thirty,” but nothing after that.

“Oh, uh…twenty, thirty minute?”

“Okay. Gotcha.” Shrugging, I turned around and went outside. It was a pretty day and I had another hour left before I needed to teach again, so I took a walk.

Thirty minutes later I returned, this time made it to the bank, where I was directed to the lucky teller in front of me – the only one in the bank who spoke even a passing measure of English and so had drawn the happy duty of dealing with the foreigner, a task she was clearly thrilled with.

With no bank+transport card on the table, I would have to just settle for a normal bank card, so I could stop using cash all the time like a peasant. Her English was more than competent enough to handle this, as she handed me several forms and then showed me where to sign. Trusting that I wasn’t actually indenturing myself to Nonghyup Bank for the remainder of my natural life, I obliged. Smooth sailing for sure now, I thought.

haha of course not.

As we finished up and I nervously eyed the clock, she slid the large sheaf of papers back across the deck at me one last time. She gestured at a box filled with incomprehensible gobbledygook* and said, “Name?”

“Oh, uh…Brad. Brad LaPlante,” I made to scrawl it across the box again. Scowling, she snatched the paper back.

“No, uh, cahdu name?”

“Card name? Uh, just mine. Just Brad LaPlante.”

In helpless frustration, she pointed at my name on the paper. “Which one, uh…which one first name?” I glanced down. LaPlante, Bradley Thomas was clearly throwing her off. The Korean custom of family name-personal name is sometimes confusing, mostly because you don’t always know which convention people are following right away – sometimes Koreans will “helpfully” render their names Western-style for you, which more often confuses me as I promptly execute the usual mental flip-flop and get their names all scrambled again. By way of example, it’d be as if you knew the Dear Leader of the DPRK as Jong-Un Kim, instead of the Korean-style name of Kim Jong-un. Not super hard to overcome, but sometimes a bit irritating. Now the banker woman didn’t know which was my family name and which my personal.

“LaPlante, family name,” I said, pointing. “Family name.” I pointed at Brad. “First name.” I pointed at Thomas. “Middle name.”

She hesitantly picked up the paper. She pointed at Thomas. “Personal name?”

“No, no!” I said. “Bradley is my personal name.”

“Which name on cahdu? LaPlante Thomasu?”

“No, not Thomas,” I said. “Just Bradley!” Another look at the clock. I had to teach in five minutes.

“Just Bradley?”

“Yes, just Bradley, please. Not Thomas.”

“Okayokayokay, not Thomas. Just Bradley.” She nodded and bustled away to print my new card.

I leaned back in the chair and heaved one final sigh, this one of relief. My lack of Korean is a pain in the butt a lot of the time. The simplest things become much more difficult when you don’t speak the language. Please, be kind to any immigrants you meet, especially if they’re struggling with English.

Still, though, I thought we had done pretty well, all things considered. We had successfully concluded a business deal, and, difficult thought it was, I had worked with the kind teller to bridge the language gap and we had both made ourselves understood. She returned and handed me my card. I nodded in gratitude, shoved it in my wallet, and dashed out the door to get back to work on time.

Later that night, in my apartment, I pulled out the card to take a look at it – where I learned that they had, indeed, put just Bradley:

*Not Korean, just my handwriting.

I know in the United States, November 11 has been Veteran’s Day for decades now. But for my part, I always prefer to remember Armistice Day instead. The day the guns fell silent in France and ended the greatest war the world had ever known to that point. Because it’s important to remember.

The First World War – or the Great War – has always had a special fascination for me. I think the war is largely overlooked, especially in the United States – maybe only rivaled by the Korean War in its absence from the public consciousness. We remember far more readily the more Iliadic Second World War, or the tragic Vietnam War. The First World War is usually remembered only as a prologue to its second, more terrible cousin.

I guess that makes sense. Who isn’t drawn to a heroic narrative? The Second World War features good and evil at its most stark in all of human history. The Nazis are tailor-made (literally, in those Hugo Boss uniforms…) for the big stage, with wonderful staging and theatrics. The scale of the war draws us in, from the fields of Belgium and northern France to frozen Norwegian fjords. From the sandy deserts of North Africa to the boreal Baltic forests, the sun-blasted ruins of Crete and Sicily to the deepest Russian steppe. The urban hellscape of Stalingrad, the malarial jungles of New Guinea, the fields of China, the cold wastes of the North Atlantic, or the glimmering sun-lit Central Pacific – there is nothing like World War 2.

But, at the same time, World War 2 is ultimately a heroic epic. The murderous, grasping slave empires of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan are wonderful villains, but they are unambiguously that: villains.

The First World War is not so simple, and that is why I think it is worth remembering.

The thing that always struck me about the First World War is that there are no bad guys. Sure, the United States fought against the German and Austro-Hungarian Empires, but we didn’t hate them. There is no unprovoked invasion of defenseless states here, and of course, no Holocaust. Indeed, many of the Holocausts’ victims fought bravely for the Reich in this war.

No, this war is German farmers and shopkeepers struggling to their utmost with British and French farmers and shopkeepers, not out of any special hatred, but for the rivalries of kings and empires.

And that is the exquisite tragedy of the FIrst World War.

Both sides are humans. Both sides shared practically the same culture. They shared the same history, worshiped the same God, even shared the same songs. One of my favorite stories in all of the wide sweep of history is the Christmas Truce of 1914.

Christmas Eve, 4 months into the war that was supposed to be over by Christmas and would drag on for 4 more bloody years. The Germans and the Allies are dug in across from each other in the longest siege line in history – hundreds of miles from the Swiss Alps across France to the Sea. The trenches are close enough for shouted conversations.

Or for shared music.

No one quite remembers how it begins, but one side starts singing Christmas carols. O Come All Ye Faithful, Silent Night – little matter. And, not to be outdone, the other side joins in. And for a while – only a little while – the war of bullets ceases and is replaced by a gentler war of music…and then even that, too, fades away and is replaced by music in harmony. Germans and British and French, singing together.

And for the first – and last- time in human history, instead of war, peace breaks out, up and down the line. Christmas Day and men from all sides are out of their trenches, mingling between the lines, swapping souvenirs and stories, taking photos, introducing themselves, playing soccer (reports say the British won), and just being human together.

Brothers.

If you can spare the time this Armistice Day, this dramatization from the film Joyeaux Noel does a good job depicting it:

There was not one Christmas truce. There many. Dozens. Right up and down the line, from Switzerland all the way to the Atlantic ocean. The farmers and shopkeepers of Europe for one day put down their weapons, forgot the rivalries of their kings and empires, and embraced each other as fellow Christians. And for a moment – one, brief, shining moment – the war stopped.

And you could almost think, maybe this is it. Maybe the killing ends here. We go home, forget about the stupid Archduke, and get on with our lives. Love our families, grow old, and maybe one day tell our grandchildren about those 4 months back in ’14 when Europe took itself right up to the brink…before Christmas.

But no. It doesn’t work like that. In the end, the kings and their generals will have their way. And the war goes on.

Lots of people, I think, don’t really understand tragedy. They think tragedy is conflict between good and evil, like any other story. Tragedy is just when the bad guy wins. But that’s not it.

Tragedy is when good and good come into conflict. Neither side is evil. Neither deserves to be destroyed. But one must be. One must win – and the other must lose. And in their struggle they must both destroy. In true tragedy, no one wins – by the very nature of the conflict, no one could ever win.

The First World War is one of the most perfect tragedies in history.

Neither side – German nor Allied – deserves to be destroyed. But the world has driven them into conflict, and now one of them must be. And because of that, millions of innocent human beings – millions of husbands, brothers, and sons – will die in the mud-choked fields of northern France.

When I was younger, I used to always prefer comedies or histories to tragedy. Tragedy was too sad. Now, though, I find myself appreciating it more and more. There’s a kind of heart-wrenching, exquisite beauty that is unique to tragedy alone. What’s more, we learn from tragedy more than from anything else.

Learn from the First World War. History is not a matter of good guys versus bad guys. It’s regular people – just like you and me. People who just want a decent life for themselves and for their families. And if you allow it, circumstances can force you to make war on them, and to do your utmost to destroy them, lest they do the same to you.

Don’t allow it. Don’t fall into the trap of thinking “if we just side with the good guys and fight the bad guys, all will be well.” The world is not so simple as World War 2 would have us believe.

Instead, remember the FIrst World War. And remember the Armistice that ended it – because it must never, ever happen again. Remember the millions of good men who were once thrown onto the pyre and consumed, because History demanded it. And learn from that.

That’s why I remember Armistice Day.

First, I am still alive.

Second, so is my Korean blog.

When I originally came, I had vague ambitions of writing every day. After all, I’d be lonely, and have lots of evenings to myself, and lots of new experiences, so surely that’d be easy?

At the same time, I always acknowledged that I am, well, lazy and irresponsible, so a weekly update schedule was more likely. But now even that is threatened! I’m actually writing this during a break at work – I have 90% of my lessons planned through the end of December, so I feel I can allow myself this time.

It’s not that I’ve had a shortage of material to write about. I’ve gone to Busan, auditioned for a play, climbed Mudeungsan (different part), met more people, had mroe adventures. That’s not the issue.

No, it’s more that I am way more busy than I anticipated. Life comes at you fast. Instead of spending evenings lonely with nothing to do but write, I find myself trying to juggle a schedule and meet a host of conflicting demands.

Let me catch y’all up – is anyone even still reading? Whatever, I don’t care, I love the sound of my own voice (“You’re not even talking, Brad.” Shut up). Quick hits and a to-do list:

• I went to Busan with Tom, Maria, Lily, and Erica. I took many pictures – they are on Facebook. I’ll try to do a full trip writeup here. We saw many things. Had a wonderful dinner. Tom and Maria are falling in love. Good times.
• I had to hurry back from Busan because I was auditioning for a play here in Gwangju. This is something that’s been on my bucket list for more than ten years, it deserves a full entry.
• I climbed Mudeungsan. On the bus out there, I met Kim Seung-Il, a middle-aged man who sat next to me. He wanted to practice his English because he is taking his family on a vacation to Guam this week and he’s never been to an English-speaking country before. He was nervous and wanted to make sure he’d be able to get around okay and take care of his family.
• On the mountain, I met Kim Cheong-wan. Cheongwan…I’ll give him a full post. He’s a delightful human being and I’m glad to have met him.
• My bank and I have battled on some things as I try to settle into life here. That’s probably worth a post.
• I’ve been working on a very lengthy – well, it’s not even a blog post anymore, it’s practically an article – on the Korean education system. I want to get input from some other people here before I finalize it, but this is something I’m pouring a lot into and I want it to be great. So look for that soon.
• In general, I am happy here. The city is beautiful and I feel mostly at home now. The weather is turning and a lovely chill creeps into the air every morning. The trees are blazes of red, orange, and gold. The walk to work is crisp, cool, and clear. I have many friends and many activities.
  
  I miss home, though. I miss being able to read all the street signs, I miss St. Louis’s broad (and clean!) streets, the little burger joints you can go to, walking into Wydown on a fall morning and hearing Lori call my name on the intercom to go and substitute for some damned class (just kidding on that last one). Most of all I miss my family – Lona and Rowdy most of all.
  
  9 months to go.

As I publish this, the sun is setting on Halloween around the world, and I am sad. Like the Mayor of Halloweentown* I am devastated – 365 days until next Halloween!

Wait, 2020 is a leap year.

366 days until next Halloween! Agony!

See, I love Halloween. It’s my favorite holiday season. Christmas is a wonderful holiday – don’t worry, I’ll give Christmas its due when the time comes.

Halloween is a wonderful time of year. The drab, boring, every-day suburbia gradually transforms into cobweb-ridden neighborhoods ridden with creaky old houses, ghouls lurking behind every corner, scraggly old trees, and the promise of mystery in the air.

In a nutshell, that is the glory and the beauty of Halloween.

Halloween doesn’t exist everywhere. Korea, for example, doesn’t really celebrate it. And that is a shame to me. We need Halloween. Halloween is one of our 3 most important holidays.

Halloween is a time of fun and frivolty. We decorate. Stores, normally so strait-laced and conservative, get in on the fun. People compete with each other for the best carved pumpkin, for the most creative costume. Children excitedly pick out their own costumes and count down the days til trick or treating. And all the while, the trees slowly turn from green into a blaze of red and yellow and orange, the air grows crisp and then chill, and gradually the natural world recedes and prepares for winter.

There’s no deeper meaning to Halloween. Not anymore. We no longer believe the world of spirits are threatening the world of the living. We don’t need jack o’ lanterns to frighten off wandering ghosts. It marks no important or solemn occasions.

In short, Halloween is about nothing important – which is precisely why it is important.

Humans need fun in their lives. We need an occasion to play, to scare each other for no good reason other than the joy of it. We need to indulge our flights of fancy, to shiver in delighted fright as we contemplate horrible things from the cozy safety of our living rooms. Halloween is a time for our darker sides to come out – but also our lighter sides. Halloween is a time for fear, but also joy.

Imagine a world with no Halloween! Imagine a world with just a bit less joy in it. Instead, we get a world that’s just a bit brighter, just a bit happier, just a bit weirder, than we otherwise might have. And I think that’s a wonderful thing.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

*