Well, my Halloween dream finally came true tonight, and I dressed as Mr. T. Can’t say it went amazingly well. People thought I was either a member of the Village People or an expressively gay Native American, but, hey, that’s OK. Halloween is all about fun and imagination and quirks. Mr. T? Gay Indian? Pretty much one and the same.
Am always sorta sad toward the end, because the best holiday the world has ever known only comes once a year. Really, what bums me out is the looming knowledge that my kids won’t go for this forever. My daughter is 8, which means—at best—I’ve got another four years of her showing any interest in our annual gala. She’ll eventually tire of the neighborhood kids all gathering together, then walking the streets. She’ll want to go off with her own pals; carve out her own path. It’s the way these things work. And, while I hate the reality, I also acknowledge and understand it. Kids grow up. They move on.
For me, the best part of Halloween is the haunted house I do every year in the basement. This year’s theme was “Haunted Hospital,” which involved a lot of “actors” pretending to be dead, then jumping out and terrifying the kiddies. I added a fog machine and a hanging corpse, both of which paid enormous dividends.
Man, I love this holiday …
