The prequel to “Men in Tights”

Once upon a time I told you a brief tale of how my family lived in Chicago during the 1960s and how great it was for everyone.  They lived in a great neighborhood, Mom had a great job, they had a great live-in nanny named Josephine, they rode to school in a great car.  Life was great.

But, then this not so great thing happened.

"But, what if I get a run in my stockings when the boys at school are beating me up? What then?" "Clear nail polish, son."

And, now you know how we wound up in Alabama.  Naturally, my family had no choice but to flee the Windy City after brother J went to school his kindergarten year dressed as a boy pumpkin in tights.  My five-year-old brother wore pantyhose to school.  And, proceeded to march his be-tighted little tooshie along a Halloween parade route after school with all of his classmates.  Because the world needed to experience a five-year-old boy pumpkin in tights then much as they do now.

I love seeing this photo pop up every Halloween.  That’s my brother J as the slump-shouldered pumpkin alongside older brother P sporting the much cooler/less likely to get his ass kicked at school Frankenstein mask.  I love, love, love it.  While the Hershey Kiss hat, satin Lone Ranger mask, and ill-fitting pumpkin attire are each hilarious in their own right, it’s the dark tights…ohhhh, the dark tights just slay me.  The way he’s standing there with his knees pressed together, mouth agape, possibly yelling at the kid next door, “Yeh, go screw yourself!  At least she didn’t make me a cherry!”  Or “Oww, my nuts!  My nuts!  I’m losing all sensation in my nuts!”

J said he indeed caught quite a bit of hell at school that day.  The boy pumpkin was not met with wondrous adoration by his fellow Superman, Batman, and Spiderman classmates.  Maybe if he had gone by the moniker Pumpkinman.  Spits seeds faster than a speeding bullet.  Able to fill pies in a single bound.  I am Pumpkinman.