(Well, not now, it isn’t. But it was when I originally posted this entry on October 31, 2007 on V1.0! Bwahahahaha…)
What’s my idea of fun this time of year? Cuddling up on the couch all day with the creepiest, funniest, scariest–and don’t forget the classics–scream fest marathons the Toob has to offer. An easy feat, as several channels are competing to get viewers’ attention with that very thing. So that’s what I’ll be doing. (Okay, I admit it– I cheated and already started marathoning back on Saturday. Hehe. It’s been great.)
This is a far cry from what I USED to do.
I remember my son’s very first Halloween costume, when he was eight months old. A pirate! And not one of those perfect little store-bought, Caribbean things–couldn’t afford that then. An oversized striped shirt from his closet, a silk scarf tied around his head, and my huge, clip-on earrings. He just laughed (because he had no idea how ridiculous he looked, of course). I still have that picture somewhere. Thus began his career in costume, and before it was over, he’d be a cop, a robber (holding homeowners up for candy), a ghoul (a store-bought thing that made him break out in hives), Jack-O-Lantern (or PumpkinHead, whatever), a gangster (a la Capone), and Jason from Friday the XIII (hockey mask and all), to name a few.
I don’t recall being much else myself as a kid but a black cat every year, but as an adult, I couldn’t very well let my kid upstage me, now could I? Let’s see… *shaking the dust out of the ol’ memory banks* The Mummy’s Bride. Torn white bed sheets and an old bridal veil dragged in the dirt, gravel, and bugs of my grandma’s driveway made a great shroud. Wrapping my entire body in gauze finished that trick. As Jamiel went up to a house to get his treat, I’d stand under a street lamp, the breeze blowing my shroud, and scare the crap out of whoever opened the door and any kids on the street. I swear, they would RUN. Awesome. The Catholic Nun. Made the costume from a pattern, and it looked SO real, strangers knocked themselves out being courteous to me ALL DAY. They opened every door I encountered, fell over themselves giving up their seats in my doctor’s office, carried my stuff, gave me loving smiles, tidings, and great cheer so that I would acknowledge them with the sign of the cross. Cops even stopped traffic for my car (do nuns drive?). It was great. The Great Pumpkin. Made from another pattern, right down to the beanie hat with a vine coming out of it. Had to go through the bank drive-thru that day to make a deposit. And who was sitting there at the window to serve me? Why, Raggedy Ann, of course.
The California Raisin. My workplace got into it as well, big time. There were contests every year not just for individuals, but for departments. The year we were the California Raisins and put on a stage show lip-syncing “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” got us second place. And extra bookings. The Mother of Beetlejuice. I kid you not. We (my department) turned our floor into a graveyard–we even had a casket with a body in it–turned ourselves into hideous ghouls, and did our rendition of Michael Jackson’s Thriller, complete with dancing and strobe lights. We won FIRST Place that year. Uh-huh. We kicked arse.
Ah. Those were the days. But things changed, as they usually do. Nutjobs started putting razor blades and drugs in candy, and snatching kids and such, and some trick-or-treaters started home-invading homeowners, so suddenly it was no longer safe on either side of a person’s door. Jamiel and I abandoned traditional trick-or-treating for festivals (church and secular) and hay rides and the like, which was just as fun, only you got barbeque, games, music, and good company. Truth told, I don’t know why people still let their kids traditional-trick-or-treat, seeing as the nutjobs are not only still out there, but have multiplied exponentially.
My son’s twenty-four now, a man grown. And we still laugh ourselves silly over our old adventures. Life was rough and we went without sometimes, but the good times we had made us feel rich indeed. Perhaps one day I’ll costume-up again, just once for old time’s sake. For now, I’m curling myself up in the dark with a good thriller fest and scaring myself stupid. *insert looooooong Vincent Price thriller laugh here*
P.S. This is the time when I most wonder why I haven’t attempted to write some horror…
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