I don’t have a whole lot of memories, good or bad, of Halloween.
I can’t remember a single costume I ever wore for trick or treating. What’s worse, I can’t even remember a single costume either one of my children wore. In fact, the only memory I have of a Halloween celebration was a party I attended in St. Louis in 1985. It was the night of the seventh game of the ’85 World Series between St. Louis and Kansas City, and most of the crowd — including my date — was in the living room watching the game.
I was in the next room, carrying on a conversation with a very attractive woman in a Bo Peep costume. Yes, that’s all it was, a conversation.
But last Halloween was little Maddie’s first, and even though she was only about six weeks old, we bought her a ladybug costume that looked totally adorable on her. She’ll never remember it, but someday she’ll enjoy looking at the picture.
This year the world’s prettiest baby is a little more than a year old, and since her birthday came on a day called “International Talk Like a Pirate Day” — yes, they really have that — her costume this year is as the world’s littlest buccaneer.
She won’t rememebr this one, either, but I hope she’ll be luckier than me and eventually remember at least a couple of her favorite Halloweens.
I wonder why I don’t have any memories of it. Maybe I’m blocking. Maybe I was molested by a Jack o’ Lantern.
Nah, I think I’m just getting to the point where my brain is filling up completely and the stupid stuff is driving out some of the childhood memories.
I remember the theme to the Brady Bunch, even though I didn’t even like the show.
But I can’t remember Halloween.