This is a little late by normal standards, but Halloween has stuck around in the Dixie Household. I have been watching Grace for the weekend and she has refused to take off our father’s fireman uniform for the past 48 hours. I don’t know if it is some kind of stress relief or odd-kid syndrome, but it brings back memories of Halloweens past.
My mother claims to hate Halloween. This is either the true, making our costumes her rebellion against the holiday, or a lie, making them some failed outlet for her creativity each year. Nevertheless, we always stand out.
It started out with the bunny costume. Nine-month old children are cute dressed as furry animals. They look cozy and snug in their Macy’s bought, ‘first halloween’ get-ups. We tried. My mother pulled out the sewing machine and material intended for collegiate mascot wear. She worked through the jamming machine and dozens of broken needles (a sign from above, no doubt) to produce one of the highest quality bunny suits in Chicago. Had I been a 6’ 2” baby giant, it would have looked great. I sat as a pink mass of material and ears, overheating, for the next five year, then K.C. did, then Meg did.
We worked through a string of age-appropriate costumes for a while. Mainly composed of different colored sweatsuits with some kind of felt animal ears glue-gunned to a headband. Michael’s Craft Store banked off our October 30th designs. Third grade we got a little crazy and Mom safety pinned boas to our black sweatsuits. K.C. and I went as cats, but the fumes hit Ma hard. K.C. left the house with whiskers extending from her mouth instead of her pink nose. We left the school under a mound of shedding feathers and smeared face paint.
Fourth grade. Once and only once have we bought a costume. I was really into “I Dream Of Genie” at the time and I wish I could say my parents were drinking. Halloween morning sprang upon us, warm and inviting. I left my coat at home, knowing I would have no use for it that day. I strutted into St. Raymond’s with my sheer veil loose around my face, purple, silk, genie costume, and gym shoes. My anime cartoon-like legs made the capri pants come just under the knees and the mid-drift top highlighted my ungodly pale torso. Sister Elaine had only one wish for me. I can proudly say I have granted that wish.
Group costumes with my friends came after that. For the most part they were void of embarrassment, but this was also the year Ma and Dad decided we should start family themes for Uncle John’s Halloween Bash...
Year One: Friends. Ma gets three of her bras and Dad provides us with socks to fill them. K.C. was jumping for joy as she put hers on. I threw up in mine.
Year Two: Spice Girls. By far the most disturbing. Three girls dressed in Ma’s nighties and nylons. Ma and Dad both in leather skirts, heals, and skimpy tops. Worst part, Dad wore the outfit and attitude like a pro.
Year Three: Great Grandma Alice and the rest of us decked out in honor of John Glenn’s death. No one put holes in the helmets. Grandma may have blacked out once or twice.
Year Four: I, now a punk, storm into the house pissed that I gave to go to a family function. Great Grandma Alice is sitting at our kitchen table, drinking an Old Style, fully wrapped in brown butcher paper that is hot-glue-gunned to white felt and beige fuzz balls that consume her head. Cookie Dough on a sugar cone. Turning into the hall, I can see the rest of the crew still gluing themselves in. Capannari’s couldn’t afford advertisement, so my mother created seven walking ones. She was ruining my life.
The rest of the years were tame. Well, I was away. I block out any thoughts of what may have happened. I hear Ma was Dwight from “The Office.”
This year, Grace had a basketball theme idea. Instead of going as Derek Rose, Joakim Noah, or even an edgy Rodman... she went as the hoop. A piece of cardboard, a metal hanger, a net, and a classic blue sweatsuit created her perfect get-up. She tied the board to her head and was off. Couldn’t have been happier.
She has already started thinking about what she will go as for next year. Some of the option being... An Old-Time Microphone, Perry the Platypus, or An Orange Safety Cone. All I know is I’ll be rocking an oversize bunny costume with a purple mid-drift underneath for when I overheat.
