Halloween evokes a variety of horrors for people: scary movies full of zombies, blood, supernatural forces and maniacal killers; haunted houses with unexplained noises and moving objects, demons and goblins possessing the living or animals. Whatever your horror I can promise you it does not come close to the real life Halloween horror I lived through as a child. Year after year I was forced to face my fear head-on with no supervision, guidance or protection. Each year as Halloween approached I felt the knot tighten in my stomach and that feeling of dread slowly spread through me. While other children excitedly ran about with fantasies of their costumes and parties I was left alone to ponder the nightmare I would soon face. What would I dress up as for Halloween?
Not like other children, I never enjoyed the dreaded holiday of Halloween. I loved the candy, but not the costume part of it. My Mother, though a thoroughly domestic woman, detested sewing and never learned how to make costumes, nor was she creative in helping to design them. That meant that every year while other children excitedly paraded around the school Halloween party anxiously awaiting the results of the costume contest, I was trying to make myself invisible, horrified at my catastrophic get-up and wishing the whole nightmare would soon be over.
The combination of no creative talent and being relatively poor meant that my costume was always either the plastic store bought one that came in a box off the shelf at Walgreen’s or else one that I was forced to cobble together out of my own clothes and whatever homemade accessories I could find. Children love Halloween because they relish the opportunity to show off their talent at playing dress up. Parents too, get in on the act and take pride in having the best-dressed child at the party. My Mom was not the type to use her children to make herself feel good and she never quite understood the importance it held in a child’s eyes. This was likely because my Mother was bedridden for three years as a child and did not get to experience Halloween like we do now. Her own particular horror I suppose as she lay in bed withering beneath the sheets in a darkened room, year after year.
For me, Halloween calls up memories of embarrassment and cold sweats from the stress of trying to not be that kid with the dumb costume. Many a year I went as a gypsy utilizing my Mom and Grams’ jewelry, long skirts and even those crocheted doilies as bracelets or weird collars. Past years also saw me dress as a garbage bag, a ghost (simple sheet with holes cut in it) and even a cheerleader with crepe paper pompons because we couldn’t afford to buy those plastic ones everyone had when we were kids. I don’t remember what my brother used to dress up as, but I think Mom helped him more (she was of the generation that believed women were there to help and serve men). He was a cowboy once, I think, and a cute one. I do remember him loving Halloween and always hauled in twice the candy I collected.
Still, there was never enough candy to make up for the embarrassment of being the kid in the ghetto costume. As an adult I have enjoyed one really good Halloween and that was a few years ago with my husband. We went all out with our costumes and had a fantastic night with friends, but even that one great year cannot stamp out the dread I feel each year as this day approaches. Now we don’t even have candy to ease the pain of a bad costume. No one really trick or treats anymore. It’s become another organized activity with too much parental supervision. I prefer a quiet night at home. Should I feel the need for horror I’d rather pop in “Dawn of the Dead” then relive the nightmares of costumes past. Just the fact that I once coveted the role of cheerleader, as bad as my homemade costume was, makes me shudder. No amount of candy is worth that humiliation.
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