For nearly every powerful experience in our lives, there seems to be some tangible memory to go with it; something of the five senses. For me, there doesn’t seem to be any nostalgia quite like what comes at this time of year: the chill in the wind just cold enough to make your cheeks rosy, but not much that it hurts; the rich smoky smell in the wind and the aroma of pumpkin spice in every Starbucks. Everywhere I look I see hues of limp brown and vibrant orange—the clash of vitality and lethargy.

Autumn.

It is good bye to summer, and it’s the promise of the upcoming holidays. It’s the resurrection of childhood: carving pumpkins and dressing up.

And candy.

Lots of candy.

It’s looking for cheap thrills in the form of third-rate haunted houses and B-list horror movies (pretending to be scared is half the fun).

And that’s really the best thing about Halloween: we have the option to be kids again (ignore the people who judge). If we choose to act our age, we can at least look on at those fond memories, and be glad to know that, in a world fried from the gamma rays of smart phones and iPads, kids below our generation share at least one happy tradition in common with us.