In my experience, Halloween costumes are like public speeches. From childhood through various stages of education and on into adulthood, one rule holds true among all others: Advance preparation, although valuable, can sometimes be relied upon too much; for best results, it must instead be combined with a healthy dose of last-minute, stress-induced creativity.
Consider my two great speech-making failures: a snowstorm-themed stutterer that caused a severe draining of the confidence my Grade 7 teacher had placed in my scholarly abilities; and a repetitive, hastily-delivered St. Marys DCVI appearance that caused a severe draining of popular support from the “Vote Stew” campaign for student council president. I’m hoping no one within Journal Argus readership range remembers either of these two debacles, but they both remain clearly etched in my mind: the first because it was cobbled together in desperation the previous night; and the second because it was so well-prepared that I rifled through it too quickly (and somewhat unintelligibly) and then resorted to repeating myself over and over to fill my allotted time.
In more recent years, I have met with somewhat elevated levels of success by putting together, in advance, a strong outline of the material to be delivered, but waiting until the evening or morning before to make final preparations. The last-minute work seems to strengthen both the immediacy and my familiarity with the material.
Much as those two memorable speeches irreversibly stained my psyche, poorly-realized Halloween costumes can also leave lasting effects.
England’s Prince Harry will never be viewed in the same way after dressing as a Nazi for a 1995 party. And his judgment could probably be described as noble compared to that of the parents who dressed their kid as Hitler, as displayed on the www.momversation.com website’s list of the “15 Weirdest Kids’ Halloween Costumes”.
Harry, at least,  should have known better; a 1996 list of Halloween do’s and don’ts on the Fox News website includes this advisory: “If you wouldn’t want your mother or boss to see a picture of you in your costume, you probably shouldn’t wear it at all. Even though Halloween is a time for make-believe, real feelings can still get hurt. Dressing as a Nazi, Klansman, terrorist or pedophile priest is ill-advised at best. At worst, you could wake up in the ER.”
In contrast to my speech-making legacy, the history of my Halloween get-ups is not littered with cringe-inducing memories. There have been occasional triumphs.
For this, credit is largely due to the aforementioned combination of advance conceptualization and last-minute detail. I’ll admit it hasn’t always been myself who has been responsible for correctly baking this recipe; it was often another member of my family who, in an effort to avoid again being embarrassed by spending another evening with a scarecrow/hobo/drag queen, has surreptitiously planned my costume in advance.
(Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the help. Knowing my track record in other non-writing creative pursuits – including speech-making – I’m certain I would repeatedly contravene another of the Fox News rules, entitled “Abstract is for Paintings”: “Your devastating rendition of ‘Global Warming’, ‘Carter Administration Secretary of Transportation Brock Adams’, or ‘Symptoms of America’s Moral Decline’ aren’t half as clever as you think they are,” goes the rule. “Don’t overthink it; nobody should have to ask you what your costume is.”)
But the results have spoken for themselves: riding on my sister’s shoulders, draped in an overcoat, providing the face and arms of a hunch-backed giant (yes, my sister is strong, but the requirements in that category were less than you might expect – I was seven and my sister was ... older); later, during university years, nothing but a pair of suspenders and two large, strategically-placed pumpkins, one of them carved into a jack-o’-lantern (you figure out which one).
Likewise, I have so far done reasonably helping (or forcing, when they were younger and hadn’t yet grasped the idea of free candy) the kids prepare for trick-or-treating.
As a result, I feel qualified to offer some advice for Saturday evening. At the very least, perhaps I can provide the advance conceptualization, to help readers avoid such last-minute disasters as the hastily-scissored Cheerios box taped to a baby’s body (posted on the www.momversation.com  website, along with the comment: “I know there’s a recession, but can’t you at least try?”) and the cookware-as-hat “pot-head” (as in the last-minute section of www.halloween.com, along with a long  list of lame, costume-idea puns).
Alas, both the Journal Argus publication deadline and word-length limits are approaching, and I fear this column may end up like so many of my own Halloween ideas and public speeches: long on conceptualization and short on the detail that might help readers identify exactly what the point is.
If nothing else, I advise reading the Fox News rules at www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,225758,00.html. And if you can’t do that, at least remember the most important rule of all: “Duct Tape Has 4,748,901 Uses (and Counting).”