Ghosts of Halloweens past
When I was a kid back in the 60s, Halloween was a major event. It seemed the entire town delighted in haunted houses and door-to-door trick-or-treating. My sister and I would meet up with our cousins and roam the eastside neighborhood from sunset until 10:00, collecting apples, candy, small bags of popcorn and the occasional dime. Rather than eating it all that night, we’d ration out our goodies and make them last a couple of months because candy was an indulgence that finances didn’t allow often.
We’d start planning our costumes early in September. We were jealous of the kids who could afford the store-bought get-ups with those hard plastic masks for the school parties, but we made do with whatever we could find. It never occurred to us that our parents would do it for us–it was our night and our opportunity to recreate ourselves.
Robbie used to be a football player in Cousin Tom’s old high school jersey and black smudges under his eyes. Leanne would be a secretary–a high aspiration for a kid of our class–in a skirt, high heels and carrying a steno book. Debbie chose a robot made from boxes collected at the grocery store on stocking day. Penny was a blond Pocahontas with pheasant feathers in a construction paper headband and a vest made from a paper sack, brightly decorated with crayons. My sister dressed up as a princess in my mother’s old prom dress. Jim played at being a hippie.
Because I had olive skin and black hair, unlike my fair sister and cousins, I was always a gypsy.
This was, of course, long before I learned that cultural appropriation and stereotyping was wrong, and years before I learned that my grandmother had Rom heritage herself. I had a long bright peasant skirt from my cousin Kathy and a white gauze blouse with elastic around the shoulders that I could pull down. I loved my collection of brightly colored strands of beads that I bought for a nickle a piece at rummage sales. My favorite part was a bright red fabric flower salvaged from one of my grandmother’s dresses that I would fix in my hair with scotch tape. And I was alway barefooted, no matter how cold it was, with bells on a piece of string tied around my ankle. Even then I longed to be exotic if I couldn’t be beautiful. My costume gave me that.
When Halloween rolls around I remember how special I felt back then, I wish for that high again. Unfortunately I’m too old to play dress-up and I don’t get invited to any costume parties, so I settle for handing out candy at the door and giving extra to the kids who obviously made their costumes themselves. Halloween is a time for dreams and make-believe. We all need that, no matter what our age.
