Halloween always seems to have a really big anticlimactic lead up at my house. There is always talk by the grown-ups of having some really fabulous outfit that is authentic. And, as much as I would like to poo-poo the authentic baloney spewing from my significant other’s mouth, I have to admit that I am a sucker for it as well. See, I really, really want to own Rose Tyler’s outfit from the Doctor Who episode The Idiot’s Lantern. She is wearing a pink ball gown with tulle underneath with this jacket and shoes that just can’t be found. Believe me, I’ve tried. And I don’t want a knock off version, I want the real thing. So the likelihood that I will ever wear that outfit is slim to none.
This year my son expressed some interest in being Bobba Fett. I was leery. He is always a variation on the same thing. He wants to be something scary but not an actual character. Like he would not want to be some movie or TV bad guy but he does like a scary mask and a cloak and a weapon, there is always a weapon. But for some reason, his dad really hooked onto the Bobba Fett idea. I think it was partially because he was really into too. He shopped around online so he wouldn’t be scrambling at the last minute. He didn’t like the helmet that came with the costume so he bought an actual one. Like a collector’s item kind, still in the original packaging. I have to admit that it was really cool. Thing is, is that when our son put on the costume, I could tell that he wasn’t really loving it. It wasn’t cool enough for him. It was too commercial. It was a real character. Not one that just sort of came from his head. I tried to prep his dad for what I felt was the inevitability of our son not actually being Bobba Fett on Halloween. And he took it surprisingly well. So much so that by this past weekend, the two of them went shopping at the pop up mega Halloween store in town.
My son came home with an evil jester outfit. It is sort of like the male version of Harley Quinn if you are into Batman and Gotham but without all the T&A. It was perfect for him. And to top it off, instead of a weapon they bought a staff with a jester’s hat on the top. It was ridiculously overpriced, good thing I wasn’t with them, but our son loves his outfit. And he looks great.
Then today, this morning in the rush to put on sunblock he knocked into the staff which was not put away but instead propped up in the living room. That thing went falling over and it was then we realized that the top, the jester hat, is made of ceramic as it crashed to the tiled floor in the foyer. No wonder that thing is do damn heavy. It just broke into pieced. Dad was in the bathroom and my son was crushed. And he did not want to tell his dad. It made for a very silent drive to school from what I was told.
My son initially was going to use his own money to buy a new staff. His dad told me that he was going to try to glue gun the thing back together this morning. I had no idea how successful that might be. The pieces seemed to be pretty large. It hadn’t broken into hundreds of tiny bits. For some reason my significant other, the father of my child, owns a glue gun. I can’t remember why. Maybe for gluing bitty parts onto fake collectible football helmets. But I digress, he owns one and he knows how to use it.
I was the first home today and honestly the staff looks really great. Clearly it was broken but it is not broken any more. I have to admit that coming home to that and the glue gun on the table really just took my breath away. Sometimes my son’s dad is not the most patient of people. Sometimes he is quick to anger. It is never easy being a dad to a boy, I think. There is so much expectation of what to do and how to do it. And there was so much potential for anger and accusation this morning but there was none. And he took that damn glue gun out and actually fixed it. When I picked it up off the floor I could feel the love that went into doing that just coming off of it in waves. I actually got a little choked up as I held that poor mangled staff because now it was perfect. It was the perfect accessory to the perfect costume. Not exactly right, maybe a little off, maybe a little damaged but perfect just the same. Just like my family. Perfect in our own way.