MOm used to dictate what me and my sister would be for Halloween every year. WE hated it. For at least three years in a row she dressed us up in these twin bright orange pumpkin costumes, complete with a pumpkin cap with a green stem on top, and black leggings and arm sleeves. WE looked fat and hated those things, standing there in the video camera lens MOm aimed at us one Halloween evening before trick-or-treating.Then, when I was about seven, and was old enough to know what I wanted to be for Halloween, and when the stupid pumpkin costumes finally got too small on us, and were handed down to our little sister, to her horror and me and my sister’s utter delight, MOm became the costume police. “NO, be something nice,” she’d say when I wanted to be a werewolf one year. so I ended up as a pretty little princess, with one of those dollar store wands with the cheap sparkly golden star on a stick and a matching tiara. My other sister, the one who shared the pumpkin trauma days with me, also was a princess. I actually had this thing for immmitating my sister, despite the fact she was one year younger than me and I was the oldest. Well, the next year I was a princess again, since MOm pretty much killed my enthusiasm for coming up with anything creative for Halloween. Finally, when I turned twelve that year, and MOm thought we were all too old for trick-or-treating, DAd let us go. WE were so happy. And, I got to be a werewolf, waring the silly cheap rubber werewolf mask, (AKA Weedy Dog–see post “Beware the Weedy Dog!). WEll, we wouldn’t shut up about trick-or-treting, my sister and me, so Mom reluctantly drove us into town that night. IT was great. IT was my last year of trick-or-treating, too, and costuming for a long time. NOw, I know I didn’t put much effort into my costume, since it was a ten minute last decision, saved by Dad deal. Now, I’m legally blind, and I thought nothing of this as I was going house to house in my jacket, jeans and shoes, and that darn mask on my face as MOm led me around. I also carried my white cane, and didn’t think anything of it till this idiot kid in a gorilla suit muttered, “A blind werewolf?” as I past him by up a porch. Now, if I’d been smart and more bold then, I would have growled at him, and maybe said a few little “blind werewolfy” words to him. But I just bubbled with rage. Reminded me of a story a friend told me how he, also legally blind, went one year for Halloween as a TV made from a cardboard box with the weather logo on the front, and some snot-nosed kid said, “Look, a blind TV.” Then my friend, also twelve at the time and not knowing what else to say, said in his squeakiest and nmost annoying voice how the wetaher was going to be crappy, stormy and rainy all week long. Then, another embarrassment as MOm yacked up a storm to one of our friends’ mom, dressed up as some whacky vampire with hairsprayed hair sticking up all over and in a rediculous long cape, the mom asked what I was supposed to be. Before I could proudly answer, Mom said loudly, “She’s a wee-wee dog.” Instatnly I felt my face redden behind the rubber cheeks melting under their heat. “NO, MOm, I”m a werewolf !” I cried. I never forgot that night. I remember vaguely complaining to Mom after we left how she embarrassed me, and making this huge deal about it. REally dumb, but whatever, I was a twirpy twelve-year-old not even able to addd fractions up yet, like I should have known by then. So, that wsa the final end of my trick-or-treating days. And you know what, twelve years later I’m back in the Halloween spirit again, and am going to dress up as a werewolf. Yep! But much more cleverly, and this time, with a tail. And yes, I’ll still be a blind werewolf, but one who will growl.
