I grew up on the slopes of Punchbowl facing Pauoa Valley in the '50s, when doors were left unlocked and the best house for trick-or-treating was on Prospect Street. The neighborhood kids would climb the two miles of stairs to the home of the nice old couple who would invite us all in to watch TV while the missus popped up an aluminum pan of Jiffy Pop popcorn.

Of course, when you're 6 years old, anyone who's married is “;old.”; These two were probably newlyweds in their early 20s, and there were probably no more than 20 steps up to their front door.

The missus would pour melted butter over the popcorn, and we'd eat it right out of the pan. All gooey and delicious. We'd wipe our fingers on our nylon costumes purchased from Sears Roebuck & Co., thank them profusely and wave goodbye until next year. We'd run down the stairs and continue our journey.

We were on our own. Our parents stayed home to give out candy. Weekend night or school night, as soon as the sun went down, we'd meet outside Floyd's house and plan our route.

  The popcorn house was a must, as was the house that gave out Nestle Crunch bars. That was a 10-cent candy bar! Unheard of as a Halloween treat when bread was 20 cents a loaf.

We didn't visit one particular grocery store, because they only gave out a single piece of coconut candy — yuck beyond yuck. But then, the house down the lane gave Look candy.

We were in our glory. In our element. Our parents didn't worry that we were unescorted. They didn't check our candy when we got home. We consumed half of our stash before we got home anyway.

We talk about growing up in a kinder, gentler time. A time when we had a neighborhood with kids our age running around playing hide-and-go-seek and chase master. A time when our moms would pack us a lunch when we decided to run away from home. (We would run all the way to the haole koa grove that is now Whiting Street.)

I regret cheating my children of a true neighborhood atmosphere. They grew up in an older neighborhood on a busy street. Having gone to private school, most of their friends lived in other zip codes. They couldn't just run next door to play. There was no gathering for trick-or-treating. Most days, they only had each other as playmates.

To make up for this, I occasionally regaled them with tales of living in the 'hood. All the while checking to make sure all the doors were locked and the alarm was turned on.

In an attempt to create a Halloween memory, I turn my garage into a pumpkin patch, hoping that more than 12 little ones will come trick-or-treating. Maybe one day they'll tell their children about the house in Makiki that had huge pumpkins growing out of the garage floor.