No place for pragmatism

Halloween was always my favorite holiday as a kid. For me it wasn’t about the candy, granted that was a plus, but it was about the dressing up and having the crap scared out of you. I loved costumes and all things ghoulish. All year long I pined for that one day when it was socially acceptable to dress and act like you might possibly be in need of therapy and heavy medication.


My most memorable Halloween was the year my dad made my vampire costume. My father had a flair for the dramatic and thought it would be a great idea to dye my hair red, I of course enthusiastically agreed. (Now would be a good time to tell you that my hair was white blond when I was younger) Having futilely begged my mother for the past 3 years to let me do just that, I should have known that this little experiment would not end well. However, my mother was in another city and I had 48 hours to enjoy my forbidden red hair fruit before all hell broke loose. Which, break loose it did!

I dreamed of the day when I would have children of my own. I would be the cool mom who let them dye their hair with semi-permanent color and helped them create open sores on their face. I would be the coolest mom ever.

Unfortunately, my children have shattered this dream of mine. My kids see this day of most wonderful days a bit differently than I do. For them it’s about the accessories. What can they be that will give them the most usable parts on November 1st?

This logical view of Halloween baffles me.

I want them to want to be zombies with peeling flesh or mad scientists with crazy hair and dark circles under their eyes. But no, this year it’s a ninja (swords, sai’s, throwing stars, etc.) again, and a police man (handcuffs, badge, gun, etc.).

I blame The Brain and all his “practicality” for rubbing off on the boys and turning them in to “sensible” Halloween shoppers.