This Halloween, I’m going to the party as Mary. Just plain all-the-layers-of-Mary. It will certainly scare the hell out of my ‘people.’
And, because I like overcoming personal resistance, I want to write this true story from Halloween 1989: When he was 3-years-old, my son chose to go as himself for Halloween. When he collected a few bits of candy from the sweet elderly woman next door, there was this exchange:
HER: “Where is your costume?”
HIM: “It’s just me.”
At this point she looked at me as if to say, “You’re his mother and you permitted him to do this?” I shrugged my shoulders — at that time I didn’t know how to say something like, “I love and respect my kid always and forever…Halloween is just a blink of time.”
She dropped a tiny candy into the plastic bucket he’d gotten as a Happy Meal toy.
HIM: “Thank you.”
HER: “Well, I guess that’s better than my grandson’s costume. He told me that he is going to trick-or-treat as an Injured Turtle.”