It’s odd how things change over the course of a lifetime.

Though Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays, Christmas was No. 1 because my parents and sisters always got me presents.

But I’m finding new ways to appreciate Halloween in my old age.

When I grew up in Troy, Ohio, no one told jokes when they went trick-or-treating.

Now, it’s my favorite part of the holiday scene.

A young lady dressed entirely in white knocked on my door Halloween night.

“Where do the polar bears keep their money?” she asked.

I had no response.

“Snow banks,” she said without waiting for me to come up with an answer.

That young lady is going to be a comedian, I thought as she chose two candy bars from the bowl I extended toward her.

It kept up all night and I can’t remember all of the jokes I was told.

Nothing new in that, I can never remember a good joke.

The parade of Halloween visitors continued for two-and-a-half hours, maybe 70 visitors in all.

Some of their jokes were short and barely humorous.

“Want to hear my joke?” asked a young man, barely a teenager.

“What’s that?” I answered.

“The Blues,” he said

He was with another young man who launched directly into his joke.

“The Rams,” he said, sounding like the “Saturday Night Live” actor in a skit about Chicago fans and their misplaced affection for the Chicago Bears and former Coach Mike Ditka.

“Why did the turtle cross the road?” another asked. “To get to the shell station.”

Other jokes I heard on Halloween were old standbys.

“Knock, knock,” one of the trick-or-treaters said as I opened the front door.

“Boo,” he said emphatically.

I’d heard this one before and extended my bowl for him to pick his candy bars.

Whether I’d heard the jokes before or not, Halloween jokes are a St. Louis tradition I enjoy and wish we practiced back in Ohio when I grew up.

It has become one of my favorite parts of this holiday in the time since I turned 60.

It’s too bad my grandson is growing up in Connecticut.