It’s a pretty remarkable Halloween – two feet of snow are piled up outside the window, and the pumpkins are buried under white stuff. I’m sure that, all over the Northeast, moms and kids are rethinking Halloween costumes, trying to figure out how to bundle princesses into parkas, whether a Zombie in a snowsuit still has a fear factor, how to convince a six-year-old that even ghosts wear boots.
Such parenting challenges are behind me, though I well remember the joy of a balmy Halloween night and, on a frosty one, the delicate negotiations required to keep everyone both reasonably warm and acceptably ghoulish. My job this Halloween involves no face-painting or fright wigs, and it’s been years since I donned my own witch costume and told a scary story to the neighborhood kids before they began their rounds. Back in the day, Jack would laboriously sketch various pumpkin faces on paper before taking knife to flesh; always, the final product was the result of much work and deliberation. This year, he’s not carving a pumpkin, but the stakes for his Halloween labors are as high as ever.
As it happens, I’m sitting in front of my computer doing one final proofreading of my son’s early-decision college application, due tomorrow. He’s putting the finishing touches on his last essay, and already this morning we have exchanged several phone calls and text messages and emails. I may not have a clue, anymore, what he’s doing in math or how to look over his French paper, but at least, in this one small realm, I have some chops. I can provide a pretty decent editorial safety net. And, given how little help he requires from me these days, I have to admit, it feels good to be needed. Still, I do miss the days of fangs and fake fingernails, grinning pumpkins and gory masks.
This month, Good Housekeeping magazine reprinted a blog I wrote two years ago, about trying on Halloween masks with my son. It was his first year away from home, and we were both still adjusting to that new reality – me to the empty nest, him to the structure and challenges of boarding school, a path he’d chosen and his dad and I had supported, but one that was demanding considerable growth and change from all of us. The details of that day already feel distant, and yet I’m so glad I wrote them down. Jack and I get along really well these days, and the struggles of his sixteenth year feel like ancient history to us both.
Today, I’m glad to share this essay again, as a reminder of how time marches on, how love endures above all else, and how we are shaped and molded by small moments — and by our willingness to notice and cherish and remember:
Every year since my younger son Jack was three or so, we have tried on Halloween masks together. It was always Jack’s holiday, the plans for some elaborate costume taking shape weeks in advance, the scarier the better.
When he was really young, he was happy to go trick-or-treating in whatever sweet little outfit I dreamed up for him–a tiny vampire, a tiger, a pumpkin. But the age of innocence didn’t last long. He wanted to be terrifying. Whereas Henry was content to paw through a bag of cast off clothes or to grab an old dress out of my closet and stick a witch hat on his head at the last minute, Jack wanted a full-bore, frontal-assault sort of costume. The kind that could not possibly be homemade, but absolutely had to be store-bought, preferably dripping fake blood. He wanted a knife or a spear or a hatchet to carry, and would not be caught dead putting a jacket on over his black flowing garments, no matter how chilly Halloween night turned out to be. The costume ruled.
Yesterday morning, Jack and I set out early with a shopping list he’d made the night before–all the things he’s discovered he can’t live without these days. Tea bags, boxes of cereal, Clearasil, a hot water heater. . . We were efficiently checking things off the list — until we found ourselves alone in the Halloween section of Walmart. It was hard to resist pausing to critique this year’s batch of outrageous masks. Jack pulled a clown mask over his head, and I slipped on a piece of zombie headgear, complete with creepy little arms dangling from the sides. Pretty soon, we had tried on every mask on the shelf and contemplated a few mullet wigs as well.
Last year at this time, Jack and I were pretty much at a stand-off with one another. His sixteenth year hasn’t been easy for any of us, a time of tremendous growth and transformation, challenge and worry. We’ve fought about everything, had many intense heart-to-heart talks, and have worked hard over the last few months, each in our own ways, to find new, healthier ways to relate to one another. In a few weeks, he’ll turn seventeen. He’s happy, doing well in school, nearly grown up. It is easy, once again, for us to enjoy one another’s company.
Jack didn’t buy a mask for Halloween. But our detour down the mask aisle brought back lots of good memories for us both. I realize that what I remember most clearly now is not all the actual Halloween nights of his childhood, but rather our annual trips together in search of the perfect mask. And how, year after year I, a fully grown woman, willingly tried on ghoul and ghost faces for my son. How much fun we had together, when I wasn’t in a rush to get the job done, or to get somewhere else, but slowed down to his pace, and took the time to play and ponder. That’s what we did yesterday.
It felt, for a few minutes, as if he were just a little kid again. “We’ve always done this,” he said, as we left the Halloween aisle and headed off in search of batteries and earbuds. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I answered.
I love this! It truly brings home the importance of little family rituals.
My little Medusa went off to school this morning, and I couldn’t resist trying on her snake headgear. I think Halloween brings out the little kid in all of us, no matter the age.
As you know, I read the “mask” essay in Good Housekeeping. Even though that was only yesterday, reading it again 24 hours later, with your current introduction, still brings tears to my eyes. My 15 year old was upset that we didn’t get a pumpkin earlier (we have had job loss so I had waited until Halloween weekend)- so upset that she said “never mind.” I may have restored some kind of “kharmic balance” via the time I spent with my son decorating but there still is a bit of sadness at missing out on “the pumpkin thing” with her – I know it’s the process and the looking and the pumpkin patch and the enjoyment of the finished product that really matters to her. A live and learn weekend in many ways.
Paula, It was your note that inspired me to run the essay again today — I realize how different things are in our lives from just two years ago, and your blog about decorating with your girl moved me very much. I hope others read that, too: http://www.waytenmom.blogspot.com The living and learning go on and on, thank goodness, and even though things aren’t always the way we want them to be, there is sweetness in realizing that they are ok just as they are. Thanks for the inspiration!
I am glad you felt inspired – it brought a benefit to us all in the re-running of the essay!
I read the essay when my GH issue came a few weeks ago, and had the same nostalgic reminiscence about Halloweens gone by. This year, we, too, are doing early apps, but for law school now, and yet the facebook posts from over the weekend were of “kids” in Halloween costumes, having one more shot at a tradition from their pasts.
Not sure what this year is going to bring as most of our neighborhood is without power and still covered in snow and tree limbs, but the little goblins and princesses who brave the elements in whatever gear they choose to wear will remind me of Halloweens past with my own little ones.
Happy Halloween!
My boys are 4 and 2 and so we’re just starting to feel out the accidental rituals that will eventually assume the level of “We’ve always done this.” As we do, this is a wonderful reminder to mark time not only by the big greeting card level events, but also by the little ones that, while we’re in the midst of them, wake us up enough to know we “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Thank you, from the mom of Captain America, a “rock star,” and their baby bear sister.
Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, something I inherited from my mom. We always had so much fun dressing up and decorating the house together, putting together parties, making treats. I always miss her intensely this time of year. My daughter is only one, so she’s still too young to go out trick-or-treating, and immediately pulls the hats off her head. But I look forward to all the years we have ahead; your essay is a reminder of that. Happy Halloween, Katrina! It’s 70 degrees here in New Mexico today 🙂
what is it about days like this that take us back? i pulled the old scrapbooks down today to look at halloween’s past. even took pictures of pictures to post on my blog.
trying to live in the present but I honestly miss those days.
Here in California, we are just finishing up our last Halloween with a kid home. This year she dressed up with a friend and handed out candy. We had our special Halloween meal and carved a couple of pumpkins and tried to enjoy this “last” sitting by the fire (even though it was 85 degrees today) drinking a glass of wine and reminiscing over past Halloweens – costume contests, making Halloween goodies, parties, going all out on decorations, growing big mac pumpkins, trying to have the house with the best candy. After doing Halloween big for the last 25 years, I’m kind of ready for a rest. It’s been a great time and I love all the memories we created as a family and I look forward to seeing how they will carry it on in their own families some day.
This was an unusual Halloween for us, too. There was the snow, but it was our first with no kids at home. We really just checked out of the holiday. No decorations. Instead I ended up driving my daughter back to college. She had fled the power outage from the snow and needed to get back to classes. Somehow riding in the car and chatting was much more satisfying than being home. And, due to this crazy weather, we had no trick or treaters either. But I had time with my favorite girl in the world.
Oh, I feel right at home with this discussion.
My heart skipped a beat more than once yesterday as I was helping my little amigo (11 year old son) and scary draculess (9 year old daughter) get ready for a night of trick or treating. You see, this is the first holiday/event without their older brother, who happens to be a freshman in college over 3 hours away. I struggled over whether or not to send him a picture of his siblings dressed for the evening. Would it make him sad or provide a warm feeling of connection…just wasn’t sure. In the end I sent the picture via phone with a pang in my heart knowing my college freshman would want to see his siblings in their festive garb. I risked it, perhaps forcing him to be open to whatever feelings accompanying the picture, as it was sent with love. Love being the root system and sustenance of family. When I visit my freshman this weekend I’m going to be sure to check-in to see what he thought.
While we’ve always done this, perhaps it is the realizing that we always do this that marks a particular sort of unmasking, when the walls of our conceptual Wallmart morph into the forest and all its collective trees. Free of fear and desire, yet cognizant of it all and Love as well, we are consciously in character, distinct, and yet at one with our collective play. Namaste
As you know, I loved the essay when I read it in my Good Housekeeping. I also love the juxstaposition of Halloweens past and present–including helping your youngest with his college applications.
I know I always say this, but here I go again: your perspective helps me live a bit more gracefully with these days with my young children.
xo
K- Do you have any suggestions as to approach and have conversations when communication has been difficult? I sense my son is ready but I avoid it. He’s 20 and will be home in a week. What can I do to work at it like you mentioned? Thnk-you and keep sharing your gift.-Jeanne