Halloween on Memory Lane

When I was younger, I always wanted to wear a bumblebee costume for Halloween. I’m not exactly sure why that particular costume created so much desire in me, especially considering how horrible I look in yellow AND the fact that I am deadly allergic to stinging insects, but I was adamant. The yellow and black striped leotard, the fishnet stockings, the black tutu, the headband with bouncy balls on it…I wanted to be the cutest gosh darn bumblebee in the neighborhood. And yet, it never materialized. Maybe my parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided that I would look just too ridiculous. Or maybe mom didn’t know how to make something out of stretchy leotard material…and she always made our Halloween costumes. Or maybe my parents had an aversion to their 8 year old daughter wearing fishnet stockings which are usually reserved for…shall we say…women of more experience. Whatever their reason, I was simply not going to be a bumblebee.

I do remember, however, the year that I was Sleeping Beauty for Halloween. Decked out in a light blue satin dress that mom had made- of COURSE it was the light blue one, since everyone knows that Sleeping Beauty’s pink dress was just plain ugly- I also had the pleasure of wearing a ridiculously long blonde wig. Obviously dressing up. Obviously not real. And just for further explanation, for those of you who don’t know what great looks I’ve been blessed with, let me describe. I have dark eyes. Dark hair. Very dark eyebrows. I really didn’t think that anyone would actually think the blonde hair was mine.

I learned then a lesson that has served me well ever since: never underestimate the stupidity of a high school student.

That “Sleeping Beauty Halloween”, as I was trick-or-treating with my father and sister, a group of teenagers came up behind us as we moved from house to house. You know the type; in fact, you probably were the type. Kids who wear their normal clothes and claim to be dressed as the “cynical youth of our generation” or would wear their sports uniform and be the famous athlete who plays that sport. Let me just say that even as an 8 or 9 year old I didn’t buy that. Go buy your own candy at the store, and then go in the woods and drink beers or smoke cigarettes or do whatever it is you cynical youth of our generation do.

But these kids were there. Even though they had been following us for a few houses, no one really had said anything and they generally affirmed my conviction at the time that people between the ages of 14 and 18 were generally stupid and not worth my time…I would rather be playing dry cleaner or orphanage (yes, I played orphanage), thank you very much. So they minded their business, we minded ours…until…one of them spoke. She was probably about 16 or so, dressed in what I now only remember to be jeans and a tshirt, though I’m sure she was trying to be a hippie or something. I guess, looking back, I shouldn’t mock this poor girl who was at least kind enough to offer a few words to the little Sleeping Beauty she kept running into. But passing her on my way from the door of some house where some man had probably given me a toothbrush or apple (that rant is for another time…who gives those out on Halloween?! All of American society has agreed that Halloween night is, in fact, the night that it’s OK to not brush your teeth and eat so much candy and sugar that you make yourself sick. It’s as American as the Constitution and the NAACP suing people!)…but the girl smiled at me and said, “Oh my GOSH. You are, like, SOOO cute! Oh my gosh, and is that like your real hair? I bet so. It is sooooo pretty.”

I think I probably stood there, stunned, for a second. Did I hear you incorrectly? Did you just ask me, the little girl who looks more Slovakian than Swedish, if this ridiculous long blonde wig is actually my hair? Do you not realize that one of the main tenets of Halloween is that you dress up to resemble something you are not? Oh my. No really…oh my. I just stood there. And then my dad called, “Let’s go!” from the driveway and I was gone, leaving stupid- high-school-girl-who-obviously-knows-nothing-about-Halloween-or dressing-up-or-the-basic-rules-of-skin-tone-and-hair-color behind to join her friends again. It would be years before my confidence was again restored in the teens of today (and it took a nose-dive when my sister reached that age). In fact, I don’t think it was until I myself reached the oh so mature age of 14 or 15 that I realized just how right, witty and pretty much perfect teenagers really are. At least this one was.

Happy Halloween. Or Fall Festival or whatever you want to call it.