“This thing is flattening my nose; I can’t breathe!” My 8-year-old son’s frantic cries for help made more desperate from behind molded steamed plastic.
“Calm down, will you? Let me loosen the Velcro strap.”
My 3 year old soon followed, “But my Daddy, these eyes no workin’. I no see you, my Daddy!”
“Would you just hold still?” I couldn’t even see his eyes; the holes in his General Grievous mask looked wide enough for a miniature horse.
“Mom! A little help here!” Unsure of what to do, it was my turn to make a desperate plea. At that moment, I understood why my own father sometimes referred to my mother as Mom; sometimes that’s who they become. I am not ashamed.
In just a few clicks and a sigh, my wife had returned and ordered new more suitably sized Halloween costumes. All is good! All is well!
But is it?
How did I fall so far, so fast? Back in the day, I was the king of original costume making. Better make that the prince. My mother was the queen as evidenced by her sewing my almost forgotten Marmaduke the Great Dane mask; it was soon trumped (sorry) by the flowing Darth Vader cape she created. My father, the king, contributed mightily as the electrician who wired the circuits on my Darth Vader belt and chest plate. (I must admit, we did order the mask complete with oversized eye holes, you remember—Safety First!) Halloween used to be the time when our creative forces could combine. Now we just order and wait for the box to arrive.
Hope has arrived in the form of a size 14 or so husky sixth grader. Oh, we tried to find him a quick-fix costume, but due to his middle schoolness, mainly indecision and a betwixt size, we found ourselves stuck. We scrolled through page after page of costumes and kept coming up empty. When we reached the adult costumes and came across the woman in the French maid costume, things had gone from spooky to spicy. That’s when I said it.
“Son, we could make your costume!” He looked at me as if I had three heads (or, perhaps, as if I was the one wearing the French maid getup). Then he saw I was actually serious and allowed his warm smile to fill his face. He liked the idea. We began to brainstorm…shoulder pads in the basement, a ripped up football jersey of mine in the walk-in, some black makeup at the dollar store and some tattered jeans. My eldest is genuinely excited about the possibilities, “Kinda like Plants vs. Zombies!” That better not be video game talk.
A football clad zombie apocalypse is limping our way. This could be the beginning of something big, a throwback to the good old days. It seems as if it was long ago in a galaxy far removed, but creativity has returned to Halloween at the Ransoms’. Grab the pillowcases!
For those who have not conformed to the plastic quick-fix costumes, send your pics our way! Your pics just may help recruit a couple of three and eight-year-old plastic Star Wars guys. It’s not too late for returns.