How To Not Stand Out On Halloween

If you're a little kid, simple, wear a costume.

As a kid, every Halloween (or Friday if it fell on the,weekend), my school planned a parade.  Every kid was supposed to dress in their favorite costume to show off during the big parade that went around the playground.  I don't remember candy being handed out during these parades, but there were awards for best creations: scariest, funniest, homemade, creative.  I won twice!  I did not want to win.  I did not want to wear a costume.  I didn't want anyone to see me.

I did not like costumes... unless they came in a cardboard box with transparent lid that revealed a fantastic plastic face mask with tiny eye, nostril, and mouth holes cut into them, and a thin stretchy band to hold the mask in place, along with a coordinating highly flammable cape, or gown, or cover-alls, all nicely folded beneath each mask.  Yeah, that's the only kind of costume I'd wear.  But we were poor, so no store bought, boxed, toxic paint fumes smothered mask and highly flammable woven fiber material costumes for me.  The only thing I understood was that my mom was mean for not buying me one of those boxes.  Every store had stacks of those boxes... one for every kid in the U.S.A.  This is how you win a best costume ribbon at the school Halloween parade, right?

I have only two memories of those school Halloween parades.  Third grade, my mom made me a princess costume.  She brought out my first holy communion dress and shoes, and made me a wand out of a stick wrapped with tin foil.  I hated dresses.  I had bad memories from the only other day that I wore this dress... I had an "accident" mid-way through that special First Eucharist EVER mass.  Amen... sigh.  Anyway I walked the parade circle in a white dress carrying a stick.  Big deal, it could have been any old day, you know, if I liked wearing dresses. So the rest of the school day, we sat and watched all the other classes have their turns.  I don't remember a judging committee, but apparently there was one because I won in the "prettiest costume" category... and everybody was looking at me.

My other memory was from the fifth grade.  But first, an explanation:  I grew up in East Los Angeles. I had the scariest (in my opinion) walk to and from school.  The neighborhood where we lived seemed to be where a few gang territory boundaries were drawn.  Police helicopters and ambulance sirens alerting arrivals at the very-close-by hospital emergency room entrance were the norm.  Scary gang members and impressionable youngsters "in training" were everywhere - males were referred to as cholos; females, cholas.  All this was very frightening to me.  Now, back to Halloween and school parades.

In fifth grade, mom insisted that I dress up as a mummy.  She bought extra rolls of toilet paper, made me stand still and cooperate as she wrapped my arms, legs, torso and head with the very delicate, easily ripped apart strands of butt wiping tissue; red food coloring took care of bloody gore effect.  I remember it was warm that day, and by the time we headed out late for school I was done with Halloween.  Mom and I reached the bottom of the hill, a quarter of the way from school and I was pretty much "paperless."  I still had to walk the playground parade circle - in green shorts, white tank top, and sandals (the style popular with girl gang members).  Oh, I also had random red splotches all over me.  I won again.  I have no clue in which category... probably the one most scary for me.  Everybody thought I went dressed as a chola.  My name was called, ribbon pinned... while the entire school watched... sigh.

So, tips on how to not stand out on Halloween:

• Just give in and wear a costume; nothing dazzling.  Or...
• Fake sick close to school parade time; or at home first thing in the morning.
• Remember, in the end there is candy. Got it... CANDY! If you do it right, loads of candy.
• Lastly, if you hated Halloween as a kid, you're gonna love it when you have your own kids.  I sure do.

Do you have your costume ready?

*****

Click here to view enlarged chart.

One of my favorite online catalogs is Title Nine, and I found out on Twitter that Ain’t No Turkey 30 Day Strength Challenge is underway, and I'm doing it... in the beginner category, of course.  Here's a little more information from Time Out With Title Nine blog:

• For a PDF of the above chart, please click here.
• Hashtag your progress using #AintNoTurkey, and share your story and photos on their blog.

Fun, right?  Let's do this.  Two minutes... here I go!

Day  1:  11:58 pm; 30 seconds - wall sits!  Whoa.
Day  2:  10:30 pm; 30 seconds - wall sits.  Ouch.
Day  3:  11:53 pm; 46 seconds - wall sits.  Whew.
Day  4:
Day  5:
Day  6:
Day  7:

The Reading Tree

Every kid needs a reading tree... that is my recommendation, anyway.  A good book and one shady tree was perfection and all I needed to get the full effect of sheer contentment on a breezy Summer day. Mine was an American elm... I loved it, and I think it sensed that.  Sitting under that tree with book in hand is one of my best memories from childhood.  I named my tree Steve.

We moved into an apartment across the street from the place mom had been renting for fifty dollars a month.  And, yes, she got what she paid for; that was all she could afford. We lived in that crumbling, cement covered, four room with one bathroom (cement walls, floor, and no tub) house from the time I was about age 6 through age 10.  Mom, my older sister and I crossed the street and moved into the much more up-to-date 4-unit apartments.  My grandmother and cousin had the top unit directly above us. The path from the front gate led visitors to our front door and past it to get to the other apartment.  I had full run of the ample front yard; it was like it was there just for me. Steve the tree was still small enough that if a grown up got up out of a lawn chair they would hit their head.  It was the perfect size for little ol' me.  I loved that tree.

I know I've gone on and on here without yet giving a word about Roald Dahl and his tales from childhood that fill the pages of BOY. I promise, I will get to that soon. When I sat down to read the book this time around, I was immediately taken back to the first time I read it.  One of my family's favorite pastimes has always been visiting bookstores, and my kids were more than happy to select books recommended for their reading levels by teachers to buy and add to their personal book collections.  My boy was in 3rd grade when he first read BOY. I was in my mid thirties.

So, back to the moment I sat with the book this week... I was ready to have some fun, after all, I have been on this adventure countless times before.  Well, I couldn't get past the forward before my head was filling with ideas I wanted to convey in this blog post.  The moment I read the last paragraph of Dahl's introduction about his stories - "Some are funny.  Some are painful.  Some are unpleasant.... All are true. ~ Roald Dahl, BOY - I wanted to start typing away on my laptop.

When I turned the page to begin the section titled Starting-point, I had to stop to share this:  We all have stories.  We have personal histories; some of us are lucky enough to have heard these stories, and have found them interesting enough to commit to memory. We have families and family friends to pass on stories from years - generations - before we were even born. We might have an uncle with a glass eye... what happened that this was necessary.  There might be that family member who scared the dickens out of you when they threatened to use the belt if you didn't eat the sunny-side up egg on your plate... even though you hated runny egg yolks.  How about a story like the one where mother was attacked by dogs as a young girl that still - at age 86 - will make her voice small and fear filled recalling the incident.  These stories are ours. We can choose to share them or keep the close to the heart.  Roald Dahl was genius at telling his stories... we are lucky to have them at our fingertips to enjoy.  And if  we are really lucky, there's a shady tree, lush full of leaves to lounge under and read the day away.

More tomorrow, Lil


Sources: 

• Roald Dahl, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roald_Dahl
• BOY, www.puffin.co.uk