The holiday of Halloween – the much anticipated event that means nothing but fun costumes and loads of sugary candy to the kiddos.
I grew up in a little village that has since grown into quite a sought after community – Harwood, ND. It’s just eight miles north of Fargo and right off the highway. We grew up “not rich.” In fact, compared to most I’d say we were even below poor. Surely my Mama knew that truth about us. After all, she kept nine kids somehow alive, fed and fettered in fun despite it all.
This Halloween time has me remembering. I was born in the youngest third of our family of nine. The particular year I’m remembering there were only five of us kids left at home. I remember having an aversion to those mask sets you could buy in a box. It was the early 1970’s. The masks were too smelly for me to want one. The matching vinyl costume that had plastic ties was just not authentic enough for me even at that young age. I wanted to be a beautiful princess. I spoke it out loud never expecting it to come to fruition. My younger brothers would have been fine with a bedsheet that had eye holes cut in it. They got the boxed mask sets, though.
I was too young to dictate to my parents what I’d actually be on Halloween and quite frankly, I was satisfied with anything. I only wished to be a princess. The hours leading up to the night getting dark enough finally appeared. Mom presented my brothers with their boxes. One brother wore the Frankenstein mask and the other wore Casper the Friendly Ghost. Mama didn’t hand me a box.
Instead, I vividly recall her summoning me to the dining room. She simply said, “Here. Step into these.” They were a pair of white tights. “Now put this over your head and pull it down to your waist.” Mama was a seamstress. With that many kids, she needed to be. She had upcycled the puff from the inside of one of her old dancing dresses into a tutu for me. She RIT dyed it pink. I already had on a white turtleneck.
Mama walked away for a minute. I was spinning in my pink tutu and I felt beautiful enough in it. She had been in the kitchen. I waited impatiently to see what I was going to be for Halloween. She returned with a tin foil crown adorned with jewels she had harvested from some of her costume jewelry. She glued them on to the crown. She carried it like I would imagine one of the assistants to the Queen of England would carry a crown to her. I was awestruck.
Looking back, I recognize that I was not just awestruck by the beauty of my costume. I had to have been awestruck by my Mama thinking that much of me to make my Halloween wish come true. I had only mentioned that I’d like to be a princess. I didn’t demand it and I would have been fine with wearing one of those plastic masks that made my skin sweat underneath. Those eye holes never did line up with my eyes.
If I’m being completely honest – the masks of those costume sets that came in a flimsy box were held together with an elastic band. I detested when my older siblings would walk by and “snap” the already annoying masks from the back. This particular year, my Mama saved me from that. I was going to be a most believable princess. We wandered our little two bedroom house housing five of the nine kids, two cats, our big German Shepard dog named Rex, and my two parents in utter anticipation to be set free.
That’s when we heard Dad say, “Looks like a blizzard out there!” Snow on Halloween was like doomsday – why? Because we needed to wear our coats which ruined the whole greatness of being able to show off our costume – that’s why! For my un-creative brothers who opted for the flimsy boxed costumes, it wasn’t an issue. Mama just tied their costumes on the outside of their winter coats. In order for me to be a believable princess, they needed to see my tutu! I threw a fit.
I was good at that when things didn’t go my way. There was nothing elegant and regal about my blue, lightly lined, drab winter coat. It didn’t even have fur on the collar. So guess what my Mama did? She took one of her silk scarves and tied it around my crown so it wouldn’t blow off and told me that only the Queen of England herself wears scarfs on her crown. I was sold! Next she wrapped her fur stole around my tiny body and secured it with safety pins and a huge, garish brooch that I’m sure my overly eccentric grandmother must have given her. There was nothing she could do about my winter boots. They had holes in them on the side. She put socks over my white tights but had to secure plastic bags around my boots.
I was used to this but remember being bothered by how those bags on my feet would take away the perfection of what a real princess should look like. The time had finally come for us to go out. In those days we didn’t have Halloween indoor events to go to. It wasn’t thought of. I was the oldest of three. I was only seven years old when my parents opened the door in a blizzard and shoed us out on our way to say, “trick or treat” to all the neighbors up the street. We had no parental supervision. We didn’t need it. “It takes a village to raise a child” held true in Harwood, ND. Each neighbor was really just another one of our “Moms or Dads” just not from the same bloodline.
The homes were close and everyone kept an eye on everyone. We didn’t last long in the wind of the blizzard but we got more candy than we’d get in a normal season for sure. We instinctively knew which houses were the “GOOD” houses to go to for candy – you know – someplace we could get something other than suckers or Tootsie rolls.
Everyone’s favorite house belonged to a woman named Carol Schoon. She should have been type-cast in a movie as the perfect mother. Her nurturing eyes were not a mask. They were real. She handed out popcorn balls that she put orange food coloring in and wrapped them in Suran Wrap. She completed them by tying each one with an orange ribbon!
I love Christmas but I miss my Mama most on Halloween. She made me a princess once because she loved me. I recognize that though we were poorer than poor, we were rich in love. My childhood traumas were wiped away by neighbors who loved us like their own. We feed the people we love and every single one of those neighbors blessed us with candy galore! Carol Schoon is no longer here to answer her door to me in a princess costume eager for an orange popcorn ball – but I can be pretty assured she’s opening many doors to the memory of her yummy popcorn balls to all the kids she helped raise in the village.
I’m old now. I’m a Type 1 diabetic who shouldn’t be eating candy or popcorn balls at Halloween or any other day. Yet something in me always dresses up even though I never go to parties. One year I dressed up for that husband of mine. I made my own costume. I know that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach so I creatively made myself into a pan of tater tot hotdish. I used auto sponges as the tots!
One year I dressed up as “one nation under God.” I wore an ensemble of red, white and blue. I made a sparkly headband with the word, “God” on it and plopped it atop my head. I bedazzled my dress with sparkly cards that had the name of every one of the 50 states on it. Get it? One nation under God.
Here I am as a shih tuz dog. Next year I think I’ll find a way to turn myself into an orange popcorn ball! We should honor those who raised us. If you see me, just don’t take a bite out of me. Your mouth won’t open wide enough anyway if you opted to wear one of those plastic masks! And be careful because they cut your tongue when you stick it through that icky little hole.
What are your memories of Halloween? What was your favorite costume growing up? Did you have a favorite house you looked forward to every year because they handed out better yummies? Email me! I live for hearing memories – my own or yours! dakotajodi@yahoo.com I hope you had a Boo-tiful Halloween!
