Come As You Are

For a short time, when I was 3 years old, my family lived in Kansas City.  I think it was Missouri, but it may have been Kansas. It's all a vague impression

Anyway, something happened there that continues to haunt me my entire life.  Haunt is the perfect word, because this is, if indirectly,  a Halloween story. No, this is not a ghost story, it's a genesis of my neurosis story.

To this day, I can't dress up for Halloween.

Like, the anxiety of having to wear a costume is enough to make me turn off all the lights in my house and pretend I'm not home.  It's so bad, I've been known to not show up to parties where such things are required.

So, here's what happened in Kansas City, Missouransas.  There was a costume party at our synagogue, in addition to the regular Friday night service.    It wasn't a Halloween party, it was a Purim party.

Now, with out getting into too much detail, Purim is a Jewish holiday...ugh, hang on, let me google this so I get it right and don't spread ignorance throughout the Internet....

...OK, I'm back, and I quote, copy and paste:  "Purim is one of the most joyous and fun holidays on the Jewish calendar. It commemorates a time when the Jewish people living in Persia were saved from extermination."


This makes me giggle because Judaism has so many holidays connected to extermination.  It's all hugely depressing.  I know, I'm not right, but let's remember, it's not racist till you say it.


To celebrate Purim, you're supposed to go to the party dressed as your favorite character in the bible.  My parents, as far as I can remember, dressed my two sisters, and I, all as Queen Esther, who was a major player in the whole saving of the people.  I can still see our little shiny satin dresses, each emblazoned on the front with a gigantic sequin Hebrew peace sign.


We were running late, and it was total chaos.  We had made crowns out of construction paper, and on the way to the synagogue, somebodies crown blew right out of the car window.  My father had to pull over, chase the blowing crown in traffic, to return it safely to its owner, who by now was in a full blown tantrum.  My sister, that is, not my father.


After much ado, we finally made it, late as always. Nothing like making an entrance in full Queen Esther regalia times three.  What happened next, is seared in my memory.  


We were late and all eye's turned to us as we walked in the door.  And then, we realized it.  It was the wrong night.  We were the only people in costumes.  


To this day I can remember my horror, and to this day, the same mortification brain chemicals kick in at the mere thought of dressing up.  This year, I might wear my pajama's to work, but that's really more of a statement than a costume. 


So there you have it.