Every year, Halloween comes and goes. Vibrant energy ebbs and flows within our hearts and souls. People dress in costumes, march in parades in cities, towns & villages, collect candy, compete for prizes in costume contests, have lots of fun and put their costumes away for another year.Some people dress up in the same costumes as they have done in previous years, while other people change annually like the four seasons of nature. There’s an old observance that suggests that we are those personalities that we dress up in, but that’s a lot of hooey.
Then there are those who don’t dress up and frown upon those of that do. Still, there are others who live vicariously through those of who do dress up, for perhaps a plethora of odd reasons including; afraidiness of the self; afraidiness of their reputation; feelings of being too old to dress up and it’s a devil’s holiday, which is ironic considering the holiday originated in Ireland over 2,000 ago under entirely different circumstances.
In the past few years, I’ve dressed up as a wounded soldier from Iraq, a rock and roll party girl, to varying themes on a cow, but last year, I skipped dressing up, because too many people relied heavily on me to dress up for them. Dress up for others? Sounds silly, huh? Over a dozen people bugged me last year, asking me what I was going dressed as. I told all that ask, I was going as “me,” but no one believed it until October 31 came and sure enough, I was myself.
This year was no different, as I struggled with the dressing up issue, because as I see it, I am already many idolatries to many people; a son to Rex Pater Homo & The Arizona Babe; sibling to Naomi, Louie, Benjy & Joey; friend to many; ex-boyfriend to women who either married or dead or perhaps both and enemy to those who hold grudges against me that are eons too old to remember or recognize.
So acknowledging all of that, I wondered deeply about the implications of dressing up and wondered perhaps if the stakes were pushed a little high & the pressure had been increased in multitudes against me. But am I a role model to those wishy-washy wiggle-worms or just their august clown boy who isn’t afraid to show himself to the world?
Last weekend, when I was doing my usual errand-running in and around town, I stopped into a Halloween shop and looked at all of the costumes and didn’t see anything I really liked, until one costume stopped me dead in my tracks, but due to its high price, made me pass it up. I told myself, that if the costume was still there on the following Monday, October 30, The Arizona Babe’s birthday coincidently, I’d buy it.
Monday evening fast approached as I went to the shop and of course the costume was still there, so I bought it with a couple of other separate accessories that seemed to fit with the costume itself.
Tuesday morning arrived and I awoke early. Dressed in a basic under-lining of underclothes and drove to work. Changed into the costume in the parking lot. Had to have a co-worker help lead me into the office, as vision in a mask can sometimes be difficult.
The workday went well; many interruptions as usual. Fellow co-workers dressed in costume wanted to take videos and photos of me; deflected two disparaging remarks and then of course there was the costume contest in mid-afternoon, where I was deemed by the company president as “a demented gorilla.”
When I went out for lunch later in the afternoon, I was helped across the street by a male crossing guard, whom crossed two streets himself and nearly was run over in oncoming traffic; two cars bumped each other when one driver saw a gorilla in a tutu walking down the sidewalk and didn’t bother to look at the traffic behind him; received candy; spoke to a toddler and his nanny about his frog costume; had photos taken of me with a young girl dressed as a princess and I spoke to a group of smoking workers from a neighboring company from ours and wandered back to my office.
After work, I went to see my mentor Miss Firefly, whom I looked forward to seeing all day. The building I waited in, is shared by a clinic, so as I was waiting for her, a young couple passed me by and the man looked at me and said, “Hmm. You should really ask for your money back. I can see that treatment is really not working for you,” while the woman, presumably his wife laughed.
As I saw Miss Firefly walk out of the elevator, her face appeared more solemn and stoic than her usual pleasant demeanor. I knew right away something was wrong, but didn’t mention anything to her until later in our session.
To put a smile on her face was my main objective, so I looked at her and said through my mask something like, “C’mon, let’s go!” Miss Firefly then realized it was me and lit up like a glowing candle in a vastly dark room.
I took third place in that costume contest, beaten out only by a witch, who ironically, looked like my second-to-last ex-girlfriend and a leatherized Catwoman.
Happy All Saints Day, everybody!
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