Halloween portrait(s) of the artist as a young man

I remember the strain of Halloween. First you had to come up with a costume that wasn't too lame. Then you had to get the stuff to wear. Then you had to put in on and go out in the neighbourhood and get into the spooky spirit of things. Sometimes you even had to fight off bands of mauraders from other schools.

Okay, I probably ended up enjoying myself, but not without a lot of fretting beforehand.

Look at this photo taken of me when I was 7 years old:

THE HORROR! THE HORROR!

I appear ill at ease. I was in a new school, living in the suburbs for the first time. I felt rare! And it wasn't as if my costume was bad. I was Dracula, for crying out loud. Tried and true.

Still.

The UNICEF box didn't help matters any. Not that I didn't care about kids around the world, but, well, I was 7. The box was a big drag. And it also made me a target for mauraders!

Woody Allen said comedy is tragedy plus time. What about horror plus time?

Fast forward about twenty years to a Halloween party at my place in the Annex. What was my brilliant costume idea? Phantom of the Outback. Lame. Thrown together a few minutes before the party.

But I didn't care. Look at the picture. I am comfortable. Because horror plus time minus one annoying UNICEF box gives you...

THE BEER! THE BEER!

Fast forward again, about twelve years. I am back in the suburbs (no picture) and I'm a writer...

Man, I could use that UNICEF box right about now... But the horror is gone. Now, there's comedy. Specifically, my stepson, Connor. What a great kid.

And abundantly confident in his role as Dracula:

I don't dress up anymore. But I love Halloween.