My ten-year-old son Brendan agonizes over his Halloween costumes for weeks in advance. This summer, after watching all six Star Wars episodes, he decided to dress up as Darth Vader for Halloween, and started assembling his costume in August.
Last year, he spent a month painstakingly sewing an old red tablecloth into a sheath, to be worn as a bottle of ketchup. The year before, he refused to get his hair cut for the entire summer so he would look like Harry Potter by October.
I recall the Halloween when Brendan was four, and I dressed him as a fireman. His grandmother had recently sent him a yellow raincoat in a size 6, “so he can grow into it.” I rolled the sleeves up twice and pulled on his red rubber rain boots. On his head, I placed a plastic fireman’s hat that he had been given at our local fire station’s open house. A miniature fireman stood before me, ready to trick-or-treat!
The fireman’s costume held up for three more years, with minor variations as Brendan grew. When he was five, I replaced his outgrown rain boots with black snow boots, and rolled his sleeves down a notch. At age six, another unrolling of the sleeves and a new pair of gloves upgraded the costume for another year’s use.
But when I produced the yellow raincoat yet again the following Halloween, seven-year-old Brendan rebelled. The sleeves hung a good two inches above his wrists, and the boots pinched his feet. “No, Mom,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to be a fireman again!”
He wanted the deluxe Batman costume, which retailed for $49.99. The price was not in my budget, and making the costume myself was beyond my creative skills.
I tried to wheedle Brendan into sticking with the fireman. “Just one more time, buddy,” I pleaded. “We’ll make it the best fireman’s costume ever!” My son gazed skeptically at me.
“We’ll add some cool stuff!” I said in desperation. Brendan’s face perked up at the possibility. I racked my brain. How do you accessorize a fireman’s costume? Adding a breathing mask or an oxygen tank was obviously impractical. Then it hit me — an axe!
I found a plastic axe in the party supply store, next to a Tin Man costume. It was lightweight and flimsy, and its blunt edge posed no danger of causing an accidental dismemberment. And it was only $5.95!
Brendan was thrilled. “Awesome!” he said, brandishing the axe over his head. I intercepted it on the downswing and told him The Rules Of The Axe: No swinging it at people or pets. No chopping other people’s property.
That Halloween, Fireman Brendan trick-or-treated with a cowboy, a football player, and the Incredible Hulk. From my front step, I could spot his bright yellow coat bobbing down the sidewalk, reflecting brightly under the streetlights.
Children’s laughter echoed down the street. I handed out candy to little princesses and super heroes with a light heart — my son was pleased with his costume, and having a good time with his friends.
Brendan returned home that evening hefting a tattered pillowcase stuffed with candy. The axe dragged at his side, the handle bent at a ninety-degree angle. He brought his booty into the living room to count, sort and eat as fast as possible. “This was the best Halloween ever, Mom!” he said, dropping the battered axe to the floor and collapsing on the couch in a happy heap.
Regina Buttner lives in Rochester, NY.
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