Check out Fatherhood Friday over at Dad-Blogs.
(***First off, everyone wish a Happy Birthday to my brother Nate. He’s 28 today and he’s coming up to visit from Baltimore! Happy Birthday!!!)
There are only three types of people in this world I don’t trust:
Yankees fans, vegetarians and people who don’t absolutely love Halloween.
Seriously, what’s not to love about Oct. 31? You can dress up in totally weird/funny/sick costumes and no one looks at you funny. You get to watch scary horror movies. Pumpkins are involved. If you’re a kid it’s the one day of the year you’re allowed to eat all the candy you want, and if you’re adult you’ll most likely be dressing up like a moron and drinking copious amounts of alcohol.
No matter how old you are, Halloween is a win-win.
But I will admit, it has changed dramatically over the years. I guess that’s only normal right? Life is cyclical and as we get older and gain more life experience, annual events like Halloween are bound to mean different things to each of us at various points in our lives. For example:
When I was a little kid I loved Halloween because we could wear costumes to school. My earliest memory of a Halloween costume was when I was 5 and my parents wrapped me in Ace bandages and I went as a mummy. The only problem is when I was little, I was a huge pussy. Everything scared me. That didn’t stop me from enjoying when I scared other people, but if someone dared turn the tables on me I would cry like a bitch.
Fast forward a few years and my Halloween memories take me directly back to my grandmother’s house. She lived on a quiet, suburban street and had a shitload of trick-or-treaters every year. Her house was notorious among local kids because she went all out and made it a haunted house. She had half-buried bodies in the front yard along with a slew of tombstones. When the scared kids got to the doorstep, they were greeted by my uncle wearing a grotesque mask that had blood dripping from its mouth as chains rattled around his legs. My grandmother — who was a piano teacher and sang in the Boston Pops — would be dressed like a witch playing scary music on the piano and laughing maniacally. It was really, really cool.
Except one year, we scared one of the kids a little too much. My grandmother always placed fake bodies outside, and one year we got the idea to plant a real person among the dummies. So the kids would walk up the steps with a false sense of security, and then BOOM, one of us would jump from our prone position amidst the fake bodies and scare the piss out of them. Well, my mom jumped out at one kid and he got so scared his reflexes kicked in and he punched her right in the face.
In high school things changed a bit, and like most teenagers I was too cool for Halloween. That was for little kids, and dammit I was a man now. Of course that didn’t stop me from sneaking off and collecting some candy when my friends weren’t looking.
College was when my love and appreciation for Halloween was rekindled. Just picture thousands of parentally liberated, horny young adults all getting together while imbibing alcohol on Satan’s holiday. More important, I learned a very crucial thing about women and Halloween. Neil Patrick Harris said it best on the TV show How I Met Your Mother:
“You know what I love about Halloween? It’s the one night of the year chicks use to unleash their inner ho-bag.”
Never were truer words spoken. College Halloween parties were legendary. All the girls were barely dressed. They all chose to go as Playboy bunnies, slutty nurses, French maids…it was truly a thing of beauty. And not only were they barely dressed, they were also trashed. Hell, when I attended my first college Halloween party I was dressed as a chick. I had a black dress with a slip up to my hip, fishnet stockings and HUGE balloon boobs. Of course my girlfriend had dumped me two days prior to be with another woman, so in hindsight this may have been a confusing time for me. But it was great nonetheless, and it meant the meaning of Halloween was forever changed.
Since then, my costumes have been pretty low maintenance. One year I cut out a bunch of pictures of hot chicks from magazines, taped them all over my body and went as a chick magnet. Another year I tied a bow around myself and attached a tag to my wrist that said “From: God, To: Women” and I went as God’s gift to women. You get the point, I’m a moron. But that’s OK because Halloween is one night adults can be morons.
We do stupid shit like dress up as Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, with a stingray attached to our chests. One buddy dressed as a piece of shit one year. Another guy I know wore a cardboard box and attached a shelf to the front of it, with a sign that said “Free Mammograms.” How can you not love Halloween?
But now that I have a son, Halloween has changed once again. Now it’s all about the little guy. Last year he was a devil. Very cute.
This year, due to his love of monkeys, we got him a monkey suit. And damned if he isn’t the cutest fucking monkey I’ve ever seen.
Well, apparently he’s a White Supremacist monkey in that last picture. I’m not sure what that’s all about, but it’s cute nonetheless.
So c’mon people, tell me about your all time favorite Halloween costumes, and what Halloween means to you. Do you make a big deal out of it, either yourselves or with your kids.