There’s plenty to be said for preserving time-honoured traditions, but how do we go about removing them?

First of all, why would anyone want to?

In some cases it doesn’t take an actuary to figure it out — like the daily rum ration in the navy, for example — the “tot.” The year was 1972 when it was decided hard liquor in the afternoon might not enhance overall performance.

The milkman, mailman and any tradesperson who came around more than once a year used to get a bottle of spirits at Christmas. Expensive? You bet, but it was tradition!

Spitting on your hand before shaking someone else’s used to signify a solemn pact had been reached — you don’t see that much anymore — and it’s too bad.

Sordid hazing rituals have long been accepted in various organizations, but they’re steadily being discontinued. Some will look back wistfully at the good old days.

Now here we are again, staring another tradition right in the triangular eyes. People we know are making plans for Saturday night, some of them involving a pretty hefty outlay of cash. Many billions are spent in getting into the spirit.

Young and old alike are likely to get just a little more flamboyant than usual. The number of house pets going missing, never to return, will suddenly spike. Crime will take a jump — it’s one of the busiest nights of the year for police and firefighters — and it’s all about blowing off a little steam.

I’ve never heard it suggested that ancient Druids were anything but a fun-loving crew. They are largely focused on by those tracing the origins of Halloween.

Their homelands (Ireland and what is today the U.K. and some of northern France) were where they asserted their right to party. They burned crops and animals, dressed up in animal heads and skins and tried to tell each other’s fortunes. That’s why people now do what they do on the orange-and-black occasion.

Each year I’m reminded of the time we moved, in mid-October, to a new neighbourhood. One day a half-dozen nine-to-11-year-old boys came to the door, selling Halloween insurance.

“How does that work?” I asked. “You pay us … and we, like … make sure nothing happens to your house,” one boy snickered. Impressed by their initiative, I was also disappointed with the criminal flavour of their venture.

“Thanks anyway, guys,” I said, motioning to the large, boisterous dog behind me in the doorway, “but we’ll be here on Halloween night, probably in the yard.”

My beef with the event is the way it is growing, in the same way Christmas has become so over-commercialized over the years.

This year, before September was even over, I heard someone say, “If I don’t see you before then, happy Halloween.” What I wonder is, where does the “happy” come in?

Is it the kid with a glue-like wad wedged against the roof of his mouth, lodged there only after the bag of treats has been x-rayed by his parents? Is it the celebrant who still has 10 manual digits following some firecracker fun?

Why can’t Halloween be celebrated on the same scale as, let’s say, May pole dancing?

I want to see less made of Halloween, the event all-too-often referred to as a holiday. Let’s never give in and refuse to make a statutory holiday out of it.

I’d like to suggest a form of conscientious objector status that folks could adopt with no fear of reprisal — indicating, simply, that they don’t ‘observe’ Halloween.

Not that I’m paranoid or anything, but I’m going to check my house for bugs planted by those Hershey and Cadbury goons who’ve been following me around.

Jim Sinclair is a reporter for the Sooke News Mirror.

reporter@sookenewsmirror.com