Why I Hate Halloween Costumes

I love candy. Always have, always will and I have the extensive relationship with the entire staff of my dentist’s office to prove it. I even owned a candy company for several years, which afforded Mrs. Dude and me the opportunity to attend the International Candy Convention several times, which nearly sent me into a diabetic coma and I don’t even have diabetes. Needless to say, there’s a lot I’d do for candy, but there’s one thing I absolutely won’t: dress up for Halloween.

When I was a kid in the 1980s, I used to get packaged Halloween costumes that came in one of those boxes with the cellophane window to check out the mask you’d inevitably almost suffocate in during the quest for another Baby Ruth. Having worn glasses since I was 3 added another level of discomfort to that soft plastic face cover held in place on the wearer’s head by a tourniquet-tight elastic band stapled to both sides. Beyond that, I was raised in the Midwest so my mother-mandated heavy winter coat further compromised my attempt to look like a superhero and made me into more of a supergeek. Thankfully most of the other local kids were equally unlucky and geeky at the same time.  

Needless to say those costumes discomfort and general awkwardness was a nuisance and as soon as I was capable, I figured out a way to reach my objective (pillowcase overflowing with mini Snickers bars) without not only avoiding one of those lame boxed costumes, but really any costume at all. I’d simply throw on a baseball hat and become a member of the Cleveland Indians. Another year October 31^st wasn’t quite as cold, so I wore my regular clothes and went as a “student”. Creative, right? Thankfully there were no minimum requirements for costume qualifications, but had there been so, I would have skated by, like the “ice skater” I dressed as another year with my parka, gloves and wool hat costume.

I'm pretty sure I had this GI Joe costume, complete with the trashbag quality bodysuit.

Ever since, and especially since becoming an adult, I’ve been baffled by adults who not only dress up for Halloween, but go all out to do so. When I first moved to Los Angeles, I lived in an area called West Hollywood, which holds a massive Halloween extravaganza every year. After attending during my first couple years in town, and seeing an inordinate amount of costumes which can’t be described in a family blog among the impossible-to-cross swarm of people, I had no need to ever do so again.

So now that my boys are 3 & almost-6 and super into Halloween, they asked me to dress up with them this year. They both chose to be Darth Vader this year after having spotted the costumes a couple months back during a trip to Costco, shortly after their first viewing of Star Wars. Though costumes have come a long way since the old cellophane-box days, there’s still no chance I’d wear an official costume. Instead, I think I’ll complement their costumes by dressing as intergalactic smuggler Han Solo. After all, he wore relatively normal clothes, and more importantly he was a smuggler, which will be useful when I pilfer the mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from their Halloween bounty without them knowing. And when the calendar flips to the 1^st of November later that night, we can all rest our heads comfortably knowing that we did what we had to do to reach our objective, a handful of sweet treats and, for me, another year without a silly costume.

My Junior Vaders prepping for their big night out. I'll wash my jeans to do the same.

The Day Hope Arrived in my Mailbox

A piece of mail.

So often overlooked today, what is now frequently called “snail mail” for its lack of immediacy in a world that demands timeliness, I believe that Postal mail still has its strengths. And today a simple piece of mail gave me hope.

The truth is that I look forward to bringing in the mail every day, for who knows what wonderful surprises may be hiding in a pile of soon-to-be-recyclable bills and their antithesis, credit card offers. The mailman frequently drops off a stack of stress but I cherish the days when he doesn’t.

Sometimes the mailman brings greeting cards meant to elicit smiles, though the ones I received recently just made me feel another year or ten older. Another year has passed me by. It wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t all good either. Our financial tide is starting to turn, though a long road to recovery will come first.

I glance at the glossy postcards for European cruises that I’ll probably never take my family on and toss them quickly toward the recycling bin. I don’t want to torture myself over what I can’t give them today, no matter how badly I wish I could. The Little Dude turned 4 years old recently. His life is just beginning. I want him to have every opportunity in the world to make his life as personally fulfilling as possible, though I know my resources will limit him to some degree.  

So how can I enrich their lives without being rich? Sometimes amazing experiences fall into my lap. Just as this autumn began, I received an unexpected invitation to an LA Dodgers game. What used to be a several times per year activity that I took for granted suddenly hadn’t occurred in several years. The games start at challenging times, it’s too far to easily get to, it’s expensive – those are some of the excuses I’d conjured over the last year or two for why I hadn’t gone.

“Bring your family”, they said. “There’s nothing better than a father taking his son to a baseball game” they said, and my only response was “sure there is, it’s bringing two”. As the Los Angeles air began to turn crisp, I would take my family of 4 to our first baseball game.

After navigating through torrential LA traffic and parking headaches, we made it to Chavez Ravine. Dodger Stadium, home of so many legendary moments. Kirk Gibson’s home run off Dennis Eckersley. Orel Hershiser’s scoreless streak and so many more that I want to share with my sons. In due time, I told myself.

Sitting close enough to hear the catcher’s mitt pop as it swallowed myriad blazing fastballs, my sons’ eyes widened at the largess of what surrounded them. 50,000-plus people wearing blue and cheering toward a common goal, another victory for the good guys. We sang while we stretched and cheered every time the ball screamed off the long pine “toothpicks”. I was enamored by watching them take in the sights and sounds of the experience. Their first Major League experience. Those moments were joy.

The Little Dude wearing his Rally Cap.

Though the home team lost 1-0, my family won 4-0. And not only because of the Dodgers Snuggies the team distributed to all fans in attendance. The Little Dude was hooked on America's pastime. He sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame repeatedly for weeks afterward until I introduced him to John Fogerty’s Centerfield. He asked questions about the players and the game and eagerly wanted to learn more. All in due time, I told him.

With the year ending soon and rare frost in Los Angeles, I look forward to a new year filled with promise, joy and new experiences with my boys. As a frequently let-down fan of my hometown Cleveland Indians, we are often told to “wait ‘til next year”, for hope springs eternal and next year will surely be our year.

Today the mailman brought a catalog. Not for clothes or plumbing supplies or stereo equipment. For experiences. And in a few months the Little Dude will get one of his own when he steps onto a baseball diamond for the first time. Wait ‘til next year? I hardly can.

Disclaimer: The fine folks at Dove Men+Care offered me tickets to a recent LA Dodgers game as part of their "Big League Dads" campaign and it was epic. All opinions expressed in this post are solely mine, for better or worse. 

What Judd Apatow Taught Me About Parenting

There’s a scene in the 2007 movie Knocked Up where Paul Rudd’s character Pete (a married father of 2) and Seth Rogen’s character Ben (unwed father-to-be from a one-night-stand) are watching Pete’s two daughters playing excitedly at a park as the older one blows bubbles. The girls and some friends are laughing and having a great time.  Ben and Pete have this exchange:  

BEN

They seem to love bubbles.

PETE

They go ape-shit over bubbles.

BEN

They’re really going ape-shit.

PETE

That’s an incredible thing about a child. What’s so great about bubbles?

BEN

They float. You can pop them. I mean, I get it. I get it.

PETE

I wish I liked anything as much as my kids like bubbles.

BEN

That’s sad.

PETE

It’s totally sad. Their smiling faces just point out your inability to enjoy anything.

When Knocked Up was originally released in 2007, I was a few weeks from getting married and 2+ years from becoming a parent. Yet the quoted interaction that I mentioned from the movie has stuck with me for 5 years, even though it wasn’t really relevant to me at the time of my first viewing.

Now that I’m 2 ½ years into this parenting gig, I know that what both Pete and Ben said is very true.  Kids are amazing because they can find joy in just about any situation presented to them. Whether chasing bubbles in the wind, pushing a grocery cart or receiving a balloon while at a store or restaurant, kids manage to find sheer bliss in what most adults generally consider to be mundane activities.

When I go to the grocery store it’s usually to get milk, cereal or whatever else we need for the house. It’s a task, not a party. But for my Little Dude going to Ralphs is an adventure. An opportunity to steer a massive steel robot on wheels through narrow aisles while avoiding bumping into old ladies (usually). 

So when does one’s focus shift? When does that simple bliss become a mindless task? I don’t know that there’s any event that can be easily pinpointed as the culprit, but I do know that it’s easy to get lost in a world of work, hectic schedules and “Draw Something”.  But the key is to figure out what is really important? Is it that Triple Word Score in Words with Friends? Or taking a 2 year old for an ice cream cone? (Believe me, I am guilty of the former more than I’ve eagerly done the latter.)

As hard as the mindset change has been, I have been trying to be more present with my Little Dude.  And I mean present figuratively, literally isn’t a problem. When he’s running up and down the hallway, I am chasing him. Not just checking out baseball scores on my iPhone until he makes a return lap to where I’m standing.   If he’s having a great time then I want to, too.  For he’ll remember that when he’s older, when he has a family of his own, much more than I’ll remember whether the Cleveland Indians won or lost a meaningless game.

So during this Father’s Day season, maybe we should be taking lessons from our little ones when thinking about what really makes us happy and not think about it. Just let it be.
And don’t forget to blow some bubbles.