As I quickly scanned the pictures on the packages I remembered some of my past costumes; those of my childhood and ones my children wore. When I was part of the great trick or treat parade there were no store bought costumes. Moms were the creators and manufacturers. Sewing machines burned midnight oil as the motors chugged through fabric. Moms who couldn't sew pinned and taped costumes together. Needles to say, there were no duplicates.
I was a Gypsy more than once. I doubt any child would want to be one today. They have no clue what a Gypsy is. We had travelers pass through Pocatello several times throughout the year. They rented empty stores downtown and set up shop. If your were willing to part with some spare change you could have your fortune told and have your life line read. I was an obvious voyer when I walked past the open door. Heavy draperies hung across the doorway and in the windows which made it very difficult for prying eyes to see inside. I had few opportunities to check out the facilities because my mother usually hauled me across the street to avoid contact. It was much easier than trying to talk them down. They either had poor hearing or could not understand the word NO. My mother was also under the illlusion that she had a gifted and beautiful child and the Gypsies might follow us home and kidnap me. I don't know why--they seemed to have plenty of children of their own.
In my child's eyes the Gypsy women were striking and fascinating. They wore their hair long and tied up with a ribbon or colorful silk scarf. Around their necks hung long chains and beads which accented the blouse and full skirt. Large hoop earrings dangled from their ears. What a sight! I saw mystery and beauty staring back at me. What little girl with a vivid imagination would not want to be a Halloween Gypsy?
There was nothing to sew. From odds and ends found arund the house I became a true Gypsy girl right down to the hoop earrings (mason jar rings on a string and hung over my ears.) As happens with children, I passed on to another phase--Snow White. A little more complicated to reproduce. This required a pattern and fabric. Nevertheless, my mother came through with a dress just like the one in the Disney movie.
My mom was good, but even she could only carry magic so far. I was the raven haired beauty with peaches and cream complexion. Alas no, I was Snow White with brown hair and freckles across my nose and check and I could not sing. No matter--I was living a dream and for 30 minutes I paraded through the school and around the block as Snow White.
The next trip my imagination sent me on was the beauty queen circuit--Miss Idaho of 1957. Again Mom went along with it. Halloween Miss Idaho of 1957 wore an eveing gown of royal blue taffeta with an overskirt of lighter blue net. I marched in the school parade along side ghosts, pirates, mummies and witches. Yes, I was the only beauty queen.
As an adult I refuse to dress for Halloween. I have however subjected my children to some uncomfortable Halloweens. What I thought, at the time, were clever and unique costumes caused them deep scars. The watermellon, the clown and the garbage bag Ninja creations probably still haunt their dreams. My daughter was forced to be a Gypsy only once.
I still see the magic in this holiday. It is a time to allow the imagination to run wild. We too soon move away from magic and innocence. If even for only a short period of time, it is refreshing to forget reality and move to a world of our own making. The best gift of childhood is imagination.
