Read at your own risk: A not-really spooky Halloween story
By John David Powell (10/31/07)
So there I was, trying hard to come up with a nice little piece about Halloween. You know, keeping in the spirit of things, so to speak.
I wrote what I considered to be a sweet introduction to an even sweeter essay about a cute, cuddly, and absolutely wonderful little boy who was not happy with his Halloween costume. Being quite pleased with the result, I hurried down the stairs and read it to my wife, the staunch defender of literary excellence.
About midway through the piece, I glanced up and noticed that sure sign of boredom: her lips had fallen off her face and were running for cover under the couch.
I sensed a disturbance in the force.
Okay, so now I'm reduced to tying together tidbits about favorite Halloweens I can barely remember. (Let me know when your lips start falling off.)
One of my earliest recollections of Halloween was the year I wanted to be the Invisible Man. I had seen the old Claude Rains thriller. You know, the one about the guy who became invisible, and the only time you could tell he was around was when he was wearing a hat and laughing.
My Chinese mother didn't buy the idea. “Aiyeee! Do you think I have soot in my eye? What did I do to have such a son?” she responded in her best broken English, which was really strange, considering that she was born and raised in Michigan. “You know you can't be invisible,” she admonished in perfect English. I told her I knew that, but I figured I could always wear a hat and laugh a lot. She was not amused.
My mother decided, for some reason, not to buy me a costume for my first-grade Halloween party. Instead, she sent me to school disguised as a cadaver.
How does one disguise one's self as a cadaver, you may ask? That was my second question, the one right after: What’s a cadaver?
Her response to my second question was simple and subtle. She tied a sign around my neck that read: CADAVER. She told me that all I had to do was walk around with a blank look on my face and not say anything to anyone. Let me tell you, when you're in first grade and all you've got for a Halloween outfit is a sign around your neck that says you're dead, it's pretty easy to go around with a blank look and not talk.
By the way, how are those lips holding out?
I got to live out my supernatural fantasies as I got older. College was a great place for that. I was drafted to be the host vampire at my residence hall during my first year at Indiana State University. Okay, so I volunteered. Anyway, I rented a tuxedo, painted my face white, wore some false fangs, went by the name of Count To-Ten, and spent the evening biting on the necks of co-eds. Hey, royalty has its privileges. Looking back, I guess I should have been a king.
When my daughters were younger, they didn’t like me to get too into Halloween. I was a hunchback one year and scared away the little trick-or-treaters. My six-year-old finally threw herself in front of me and told the kids not to be afraid, because it was only her dad. She still has no sense of humor.
I haven't decided what I'm going to be for this Halloween. My daughters are too old to care if I’m a hunchback, and I’ve done the cadaver bit.
I bought a really neat lucha libre mask that no one in my family likes. I asked my wife what I should call myself when I wear the mask. She quickly suggested El Cabron. Like I don’t know what that means (it means “The Cabron”).
When my wife found out she was pregnant with her second child, I was known around the house as “pond scum.” That was nearly 20 years ago, but she still calls me that. The woman really knows how to hold a grudge.
Just to get out of this column (and to protect your lips), I’m thinking of taking the easy way and going as the Invisible Pond Scum. The costume is easy. All I need is a hat and a laugh.
John David Powell
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