Halloween Memories - 10.30.09

Halloween Memories – 10.30.09

That feeling around Halloween time has changed for me over the years.

“Ghosts, goblins, skeletons and such,
They give you fright
On Halloween night.

And if you say BOO,
The pumpkin will too.

Better be careful,
Or bats will get you!”

That was written as a contest entry in the second grade. I must have re-written that thing 8 or 9 times to make it the “Honorable Mention” masterpiece that it was.

Why kids aren’t reciting it annually this time of the year is beyond me. Literary genius is what it is. I’m sure Mrs. Ezell must have meant to send it to Reader’s Digest or The Ladies Home Journal or Family Weekly or some place worthy of such literary prose. But time has passed and I have forgiven her.

Did you ever have that teacher in elementary school that really got you to notice how beautiful a woman’s figure could be? No? Me, either.

But then again, Miss Hardy wasn't actually a teacher. She was Mrs. Ezell’s assistant during the 1980-1981 school year. Oh, my goodness. She must have been created on a Saturday, because I’m sure that the Good Lord, Himself, took a day off just to admire His handy work when He was done with her.

She was a woman, I tell you!

I was 8 and she was 20… it was perfect. She was finishing up college. I've always had a thing for college girls. The University of Whatever. It doesn't matter.

She had long, straight, brown hair. And brown eyes. Beautiful brown eyes. And a smile straight from the Heavens.

She was an active assistant. And on that day she had worn her costume to school for our Halloween Party. And we had a party, let me tell you. A real party. No Play Dough treats. No stickers. No combs shaped like an orange skeletons. No healthy snacks. No sir! We had spider-rings, homemade fudge and chocolate candy bars! We had black and orange cake that made your teeth look like you’d been eating dirt. We had grape Kool-Aid. Well, it was actually, most probably, only Flav-R-Aid because the “ghost” kid brought it. But we had something nobody else had. We had Miss Hardy! And she was in her costume too! It was like she was our age!

I do believe that was the first time I’d ever seen multi-colored knee-highs under a short skirt. Knee-highs were one thing. And quite common, I might add. Knee highs and skirts weren't that big a deal in those days. They were usually thick and warm looking. But hers were different. They were sleek and shiny, kind of see-thru. They didn’t look warm at all. In fact, the way she was dressed, she looked like she might have taken chill soon. Now, keep in mind, I was 8. I didn't know what I was feeling. But I liked it. And I've never forgotten it.

I don’t have any recollection of her costume that day back in 1980, other than those knee-highs. But I can tell you this… I remember the feeling I got that day. It’s a feeling that a young man doesn’t forget. It moved for me that day. Uh… um. I mean. I was 8 for crying out loud. “It” being the pedestal I’d used for women. I had grown up on Pinky Tuskadero and envisioned her dropping Fonzie for me after I won one of those famous Malachi Crunch things she was so well known for. But Pinky was on television. Miss Hardy was in my classroom. Miss Hardy was a tad bit more accessible. Just in case, I mean, really, I’m 8 years old at this time, right?

I only wonder where she is now. I’m sure if you could draw a straight line from the tip of Heaven to the most beautiful place on Earth, she’s somewhere on that line, still making jaws drop.

So, I mention all of this to say that, for many, many years Halloween had only one meaning… costumes. For some reason, the candy was never much of a big deal. It was the costumes for me and the other kids. The costume made the kid the kid. It’s a big deal for a kid to be cool. And a cool costume could make you or break you at that age. It’s that simple. We didn’t have cars. We didn’t have money. But we had costumes.

Any old kid could roll into homeroom on November 1st with a brown paper sack full of candy. But you could get that all year long if your parents let you. A “case quarter” and two little grubby fists could pull out a lot of penny candy out of the boxes at Myatt’s. But the costume was different. What really mattered was the costume.

Making memories with all your friends on Halloween night was fantastic. And everybody talked about everybody the next day. Good and bad! Trick or treating in small town Mississippi during the late 70s and early 80s was a little different than it is now. Trick or treating back then usually meant piling up about 7-9 kids deep in somebody's grandma's old station wagon and driving out to King Subdivision. Our mama’s turning us loose for about an hour and off we'd go! There was a lot of running. A lot of sweating. And a few scabbed knees.

We didn’t have a Party City in those days. There wasn't a Wal-Mart. You got your costume one of only a couple of different ways. If your mom or grandma could sew, then you were lucky. They'd go down to the Salvage Barn and buy some odd pieces and you might be a scarecrow, a witch or a cowboy. If there were no seamstresses in your gene pool, then you might just be a ghost. It sucked being a ghost. That plain white sheet draped over you. You couldn't breath at all. Always falling down, because you can't see shit in that get up. At that age, we didn’t really know what poor meant, but we did know that the ghost kid was the poor kid. What ever poor was. Or that he just had lazy parents. (For further clarification, reference the Kool-Aid analogy above.)

Then there was the kid who got his costume from T-W-L. “Take What’s Left” we used to call it. T-W-L was like a Dollar General, but not nearly as nice. I can say that with a sincere smile.

T-W-L used to carry a wide assortment of vinyl costumes in a variety of colors. Most notably, all of them were “one size fits none”. They must have been made for midgets because the super heroes never had any boots. The army man never had any legs. Those costumes only covered the front half of your legs down to about your shin. Then, they tied with a hard, little vinyl string (for lack of a better word) thingie in the back. And if you tied it too tight, that string would break. And if it broke, it would usually be early in the night, and one of your legs would be flipping and flopping in varying directions until it was time to get back in the station wagon. There’d always be this shwick-shwack sound as you walked too as that leg flapped awkwardly. The wind could be blowing in the middle of a rainstorm and they could hear you walking in that thing. You’d walk up and the porch light would come on, like a lighthouse bringing in a ship to the shore.

Shwick-shwack, shwick-shwack, shwick-shwack. Here came the kid that comes in on the Halloween costume hierarchy just under “ghost” with his crappy ass, noisy, no boot having, “one size fits none”, plastic, shwick-shwack outfit and a plain brown paper sack that only had an apple in it. No orange, plastic pumpkin Jack-O-Lantern, candy holding barrel for this guy. He's got a grocery sack. What a loser! A big time loser with is Tough Skins hanging out under the knees of his (quote/un-quote) super hero costume. His knockoff Keds, which were actually called "Kads" to avoid a trademark infringement, coming in just below the flapping shin that up until now has had a mind of its own. His big toe sticking out from the top of the Kads because he’s running too fast. Not too fast, in the “quick like the wind” kind of too fast. More like the “out ran the shotty craftsmanship in those shitty shoes” kinda fast.

And that mask on those things. “Golly-gee wil-a-kers, Batman. Those things would kill ya!” Could anybody really breath out of that little pea hole? There should’ve been this big, bright, yellow, square sticker on the inside of those things that you couldn't miss when you held it up to your face and pulled that old rubber band back around your head. Remember those rubber bands as they'd tear your hair out of your skull, follicle by follicle. The sticker would be like what’s on the visor of every car made since 1999. And instead of “Wear your seatbelt” or whatever, it would read “Don’t wear this for fear of suffocation” or even better “Don’t wear this if you ever want Miss Hardy to think you are cute”.

Poor kid.

You may ask yourself how I know that kid so well.

It’s easy.

He was me!

But only for that one year.

I learned my lesson that year.

Kids are brutal. Thank God. As well they should be. It gives our little egos a chance to learn and grown before we become grown up.

There was a lot less violence back when kids could be mean and people could be made fun of. It made us tougher. Nowadays, it’s a crapshoot as to which kid is packing heat just in case someone is honest with him. Tough times we live in, man. Tough times.

So that day I did what any young kid should do after a night out on Halloween town like that. I made sure that the next year I would not be that kid!

I learned to plan ahead. Next year, I was something. I don’t know what it was, but it was not a ghost and it did not come from the T-W-L store.

Nowadays, it’s a little different, though. I’m busy. Too busy for Halloween. Too busy to have fun like I used to. It’s a shame, I guess. Because, after all, I’m really good at not being a grownup. I’m exceptional at acting silly. I’m above average at being funny. I enjoy being funny and making others laugh. And I’m fantastic at being a dad.

You know, I should put all that together and give it a shot. Maybe I should dress up for Halloween next year. I could do it. I’d probably be a hit! That’s the way I am. I would either totally succeed and then tout how great I am or I would crash in flames from failure. I’d probably succeed.

Every year around July, I think to myself how cool it’d be to dress up for Halloween. You know, show the kids how it’s done. Then around August, I think I better get started. Then by the end of September, I’ve lost track. And a couple weeks into October, it’s too late. It’s not actually too late. It’s just too late to not be the grownup in the ghost sheet.

Oh, dear. Could you imagine?

The grown up in the ghost sheet…

with the Flav-R-Aid…

and the apple…

and my toe sticking out of my Kads.

I couldn’t live through that as an adult. I’m not tough enough any longer.

If my toe pops out my shoe at this age, I buy new shoes. I don’t get tougher.

So nevermind…

I’ll just leave Halloween to the professionals, the 9 and under crowd.