Every year, as soon as the leaves start changing colors along the quiet street of my New England town, I am immediately reminded of one of my favorite ’90s childhood memories: Halloween. It was the highlight of every autumn, a night of uncomplicated, untethered, old-fashioned fun. It’s the kind of fun I wish for my four kids — the kind that’s often so difficult to get today, between the screen obsession and the over-packed schedules. And so every year, I do my best to create a Halloween night for them like the ones from my childhood. Because God, they were magical.

It was a neighborhood-wide event. Parents sat out in their driveways with adult beverages and snacks as all their kids convened together to map out their routes. We always started as one large group of adults and kids, ensuring the little kids had hands to hold as they made their way from house to house. After a little while, the littles got tired from all of their walking, and it was time for the parents to relax and the big kids to go off on their own.

Without cell phones, there was no natural form of communication other than planned check-ins after the completion of each street. Parents convened around fire pits and appetizers, laughing and swapping stories as the kids made their way through town. Returning to tag-up, emptying our candy-filled pillowcases, and grabbing a quick drink, we shared funny stories and updates on the night’s happenings.

It was a night of freedom. Always accompanied by responsible older siblings but still feeling independent, I could navigate my town’s nearby streets, without my parents hovering. My costumed friends and I traveled on foot discussing our favorite candies between houses. When we reached a house that was generous enough to hand out the “full-size” candy bars, we would kick into high gear with our loud, ritual “FULL-SIZE HOUSE” chant for all the passers-by to hear.

There were always the extra special houses that knew us — my grandmother, a family friend, and my mom’s best friend — who always went the extra mile for their favorite trick-or-treaters. One made homemade candy apples every year. She wrapped them in wax paper with a curly orange ribbon. And rather than drop it in our pillow case, we’d take a spot on her front porch and enjoy every bite. A small break for our legs and a chance for her to snap a photo of us and enjoy our smiles as we wolfed down one of our night’s favorite treats.

Once the night was over when the darkness had fully settled in, and our legs were tired, both parents and kids convened at one of the neighborhood houses. We’d count, organize, and rate our collections as our parents wrapped up their socializing before we headed home to bed. At the end of each night, I remember being exhausted and saddened that it was over, but I was already looking forward to the following year.

So, while our Halloween might be restrained now — making it a bit impossible to go technology-free and worry-free for a night of dark neighborhood wandering and door-knocking — I will try to foster the same old-fashioned experience for my kids that I enjoyed so much.

I will give them as much freedom as my anxiety will allow, and I will invite neighborhood friends into our driveway for some treats. I will make it a night about family and friends — adults convening for laughs similar to those my parents had many years ago. And although I am no chef, I might attempt some candy apples. Because I remember exactly how unwrapping mine on Halloween night felt. If I can give that joy to my neighborhood kids, I am in!

Samm is an ex-lawyer and mom of four who swears a lot. Find her on Instagram @sammbdavidson.