It was 1973. Earlier that year we had landed in LAX, dressed in our tacky best, ready to be good new citizens of America. By October 31, our family had moved twice, seeking lower rent with each move. So there we were on the second floor of an apartment building on the corner of Magnolia and 12th, on Halloween night, 1973, when the first trick-or-treaters arrived.

It caught the Kang family entirely by surprise. I think we did notice in the weeks prior that something was up. The pumpkins, the sudden abundance of candy on the store shelves… but none of us knew about the “giving away candy” tradition. We were eager, as new immigrants often are, to be good Americans (or, not being “ugly Koreans” as my mom would say). But as we stood there staring at the monsters on our doorstep with their bags open, not having candy to give them, it was an immigrant faux paux of major proportions.

One of us was immediately dispatched to the local supermarket, only to find that the market’s storehouse of candy had been cleaned out. So my mom quickly put a grocery bag over my head, cut out two holes and sent me out. Hurrying, I ran from house to house collecting candy so I could run back to deposit it back at home where my mom was giving it to trick-or-treaters as fast as I could replenish our supply. I don’t know how many trips I made, but by the end of the night I was exhausted.

Don’t feel sorry for me. While other 9 year olds were going house to house greedily amassing sweets for themselves, I was out there salvaging my family’s honor. I may have been running around with a brown paper Safeway bag over my face, but I was not ashamed.

I wish I could say that the next Halloween we were ready with candy for the inevitable stream of trick-or-treaters at our door. But, alas, my parents were not about to actually pay money to buy candy—not when the neighbors were perfectly willing to give it out for free. That year, however, I at least had a real mask.

Nowadays, when the trick-or-treaters come around, I refuse to hand out a mere two pieces of candy per child. No, I give them fistfuls. Just in case one of the poor trick-or-treaters has to run back to his home. And when it’s time for me to leave for Joyland Festival (a Halloween program put on by our children’s ministry) I just leave the bucket of candy outside.