In first grade, Momma got creative and sewed handmade costumes. The scariest thing about my witch costume was the heavy-handed eyebrow makeup. My sister/cat rode along on my broom and stole the show. As usual.
Yes, Momma plays the ukulele. Sorta.
In no way was this Halloween costume meant to be a politically incorrect slam. I was in complete awe of the farm labor who came from South Texas each summer to chop cotton. They traveled to Arkansas in a large convoy, with the entire extended family in tow.
While on our farm, they cooked platters of tamales wrapped in corn husks and sweets made from caramelized sugar. They brought giant bags of juicy grapefruits and sweet onions from The Valley, a magical Neverland near the Rio Grande. I longed to see it…someday…
When their work was done and our fields were free of Johnsongrass, they packed up and traveled to Michigan for new adventures picking tomatoes. The Mexicans worked and played and journeyed as one cohesive group and were not forced to sit in one flat delta field for all of eternity.
They were as free-spirited as those gypsies on the edge of town.
I wanted to be a Mexican when I grew up. Until, of course, that summer Daddy made us chop cotton with them…
That’s a whole other story.
What was your favorite childhood costume?
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.