There aren't any pictures of me in Halloween costumes to put at the top of this. No Batmans or cowboys or army guys.
Greetings. I was the only kid in America who hated Halloween; or at least the only fat kid.
It just seems like so much work, getting dressed up for candy. I can only remember one costume, mostly because it was totally inappropriate in a cute, coudln't-possibly-know way. I dressed up in black face. You're not supposed to do that, as a Caucasian, but I didn't know that at age 8. The costume was for Darren Nelson, former Minnesota Vikings running back. Nelson is a black man, so, naturally, I wanted to look authentic.
I wore a Vikings helmet and jersey and used all the brown in my Halloween makeup kit. A few people sort of choked when they asked me who I was supposed to be. One asked why my face was painted. I was too young to pick up on any of that, but I have since figured it out.
That might have been the last costumed year. Mom might know of some other costumes or have some incriminating photographs, but I sort of doubt it. Halloween was not the family's favorite holiday.
Except for one year.
That was the year The Engineer, AKA my Dad, got involved.
Dad used to tell my brother, Steve Dorsey, and myself about a ghost he rigged up in his Florida yard as a kid to scare people on Halloween. Steve and I bugged Dad to do it for years. Finally, with it confirmed that I was not trick-or-treating, Dad relented.
We bought some nylon rope and pulleys and a hook that hung on the rope. We attached the rope to a pair of trees about 100 feet apart in the front yard of our house. Dad hung a volleyball from the hook and covered it with a white sheet. At night, we added a probably-toxic green Glow Stick to the volleyball and it was complete; we had a Ghost Volleyball sheet thing.
It was a big hit. I got into Halloween that year. I wore all black as I stood next to the base of a tree in the front yard and pulled the Ghost Volleyball from side to side in the yard. After a while, I got sneaky. A woman and a little girl walked onto our front porch before I silently wheeled the ball behind the unsuspecting candy-takers. The woman thanked Mom for the candy, turned around, and let out the most God-awful scream I have ever heard. I had to actually come out and calm her down; she sat on the front porch to catch her breath before moving on to the next house.
Ghost Volleyball freaked a lot of people out, but it didn't win me over to Halloween. Later that night, I went out with no costume "dressed as a 13-year-old pretending he's 14." It's so much less work that way.
Halloween is, essentially, a tax levied on your neighbors to see kids dressed in cute or horrifying costumes. As long as that tax is paid in Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, nobody's house gets egged. It's a great tradition and I'm all in favor of scantily-clad women at Halloween parties, so I'm not suggesting we do away with it. The best part is that it's over and we can focus on the next big holiday: Veterans Day. Hey, at least some of us get holiday pay for that holiday.
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