The Halloween of My Dreams
In the November 3, 2004 issue of the Washington Post, Marjorie Williams, a writer wrote a column called “The Halloween of My Dreams” which described a day helping her daughter with a Halloween costume – glitter and all – and watching her 8-year old run out the door to go trick or treating. The story touched my heart and I have never forgotten it. For any mother who realizes those seemingly normal moments with our children are really gifts that pass by in a blink of an eye, it’s a must read.
In 2011, the National Society of Newspaper Columnists rightly named it one of the top 15 newspaper columns in American History.
My favorite Halloween of memory was the Halloween of 2002. We had just moved to Madrid but my 6-year old daughter was still focused on American holidays and wanted to dress up as a credit card. We went to the art supply store and bought big sheets of cardboard, string, and multi-colored markers. When we got home, my daughter asked me for my credit cards, laid them out on the floor and set upon designing her own credit card on those big pieces of cardboard, using my small plastic cards as reference. When she was done, we strung together the two sides to form a front and back billboard dress and she donned her tights, smart maryjanes, skirt and sweater underneath.
Sixteen years ago, most Spaniards had not heard of Halloween and the American holiday was certainly not celebrated in Madrid. We lived in the city, in an 8-story building that had 2 pisos (apartments) on each floor so my daughter would be trick or treating in an apartment building for the first time. Concerned that she wouldn’t have a “real” Halloween, I went to my neighbors and told them about Halloween and asked if they would give her a “dulce” (sweet) when she knocked on their door and said “Trick or Treat.” They responded enthusiastically and I was grateful for their willingness to participate. But, recruiting the neighbors wasn’t enough because I had a child who had two speeds: fast and stop; I knew she would be through the building in about ten minutes if I didn’t think of something else to make the trick or treating last.
I expressed my concerns to my husband and convinced him to participate in a plan we nicknamed Operation Halloween: he would take our daughter to one floor of the building for trick or treating and then come to our door pretending I was a neighbor, then they would go to another floor, and come back to our door again pretending I was a different neighbor, and so on. Each time she would knock on our door, I would be in a different costume pretending to be someone she didn’t know. All I had to do was be a quick change artist.
Of course, my daughter knew what was going on but she played along because she never knew “who” was going to open the door and she could hardly contain her excitement. There was the businesswoman, the disco diva (don’t ask – a costume I kept), the khaki-clad guy(courtesy of my husband’s closet) with an eyeliner drawn moustache above my lips, the gown clad matron, and the gym rat. But, the costume that had my daughter bent over, belly laughing was the bikini, boa, and high heel clad babe who upon answering the door told the little credit card in my best Zsa Zsa Gabor accent: “dahling, dahling…why are you letting that cardboard cover your body…you need to lose those layers and find the little Zsa Zsa in you.” Even my husband laughed.