So, here I am at 7:25pm on Thursday after Halloween and I am eating candy that my son gathered on his trick-or-treating extravaganza. I am feeling guilty, but only a little. My son is 7 years old so it isn’t exactly like taking candy from a baby (she writes defiantly).
Halloween was its usual hell-ish experience. As I have written before, I don’t like the holiday because of, among other things, the ghoulish costumes and behaviors, and I didn’t know what to do with the carved pumpkin except put it in the refrigerator where one would normally put ripened or cut fruit. Leave it out for the bugs and the vermin? Now, that’s not a plan for an urban dweller who likes to keep both nature’s jungle and the urban jungle at bay.
A major issue was my son’s costume. He did not want to dress up and wanted a general pass on the occasion (that’s my son!!). POB (partner of blogger) had long ago convinced me that Halloween was important (as were scooters and other toys of potential death and dismemberment) because we should stress social inclusion (but not assimilation or group think).
As you can tell POB is the intellectual in the family because I am still trying to apply these principles to daily life and parenting. Realizing that I was still struggling, she recently restated her position in words I can understand: having two moms will be tough enough when he is a teenager, do you want to add the deficit of Halloween? Because we are two women, our son’s societal acceptance depends on celebrating Halloween. Ok, I get that thinking. Sort of. My straight parents were dismissive of some societal norms and my college friends thought I was a Soviet spy. It was lovingly meant as weird and kooky, I think.
So, Halloween it is. It took some cajoling for our son to agree to a costume: “why can’t I be ME?” he asked. As part of the inclusion model, I did not say that a transitive verb takes a subjective pronoun and the question is “why can’t I be I?” which, while non-sensical, is grammatically correct. But I digress.
He loves the Natural History Museum which was founded by early 20th century President Teddy Roosevelt. So, he decided that he would be Teddy Roosevelt in the age of the Rough Riders. We got a rough rider hat, bandana, round spectacles and I taught him to say, “bully, bully!!” just like Roosevelt. But it was a little — how shall I say — cerebral for a 7 year-old.
Mindful of inclusion model, I tried to get him to think more commercially — work with me on the inclusion part here — and I asked, wouldn’t you like to be a Power Ranger or an X-Man? Nah, not so much. Teddy Roosevelt it was.
My parents would have beamed with pride and joy if I wanted to dress up as Eleanor Roosevelt for Halloween. One generation later, I am begging my son to be an X-Man. There is a PhD thesis in here somewhere but not now.
Needless to say, in No-Where-istan, there is no Halloween.
