I’ll never understand Halloween costumes.
I’ve never thoroughly enjoyed dressing up as someone else, wearing clothing I wouldn’t normally wear in the name of fun around Oct. 31. It just doesn’t make sense to me.
However, in my house, it’s a beloved holiday, ranking somewhere between Christmas (free stuff, family and religion, all wrapped into one) and Thanksgiving (eat whatever you want, and no one complains).
The Halloween costumes in our house range from aspirational to confrontational this year.
The aspirational ones include Spider-Man for someone who wishes he could shoot webs out of his hand, a Pikachu for someone a bit too Pokémon obsessed and our own “Smarties Pants,” a homemade idea with Smarties candies taped to a dark pair of pants with a colorful shirt. (The girl behind that last one told me her favorite part of Halloween was the exercise.)
Then there’s our oldest, who’s taking on her fear of critters in the water with a lifeguard costume and a shark bite. She’s pairing that up with a shark costume for one of our dogs. There will be a cute-as-a-button skeleton baby at our house too, including some candy corn hanging out in the rib cage.
Even my wife, usually not one for costumes, is in the spirit this year, planning to wear a referee’s outfit, which adequately describes her role at both work and home.
As for me, I just don’t feel the motivation to find a costume. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be than me.
I don’t need to terrorize my neighborhood by dressing like a crazed clown, the Grim Reaper or even Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump. No, I’m happy terrorizing with the same scary mask I wear the rest of the year too.
In the past, I’ve tried harder. About 15 years ago, I dressed up for a guy named Ben’s Halloween party, with the theme that everyone should dress as different versions of Ben. I dressed as Ben Her, a bad pun with an equally bad red dress that showed my friends and co-workers just how hairy I was.
Most of the time, though, I’ll cheat, throwing on a football jersey and jeans and claiming to be a player on injured reserve.
I think I’ve invented the perfect costume this year, though. I’ll pretend to be that guy from the Sunday column in The Lima News, who always has a quip ready and appears to be the calmest, nicest dad in the region.
It may take a little work, but that’s who I aspire to be, and I’m told I have a passing resemblance to him.
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