I thought the idea of being a kangaroo was just so. original. I could receive candy and collect it in my pouch. No tacky plastic pumpkin for me!
I did not consider making the costume myself. I wanted it to be a professional job. My mother, while talented in many ways, was not big on sewing. A classmate’s mother used a pattern to craft a sort of tawny-colored faux fur tunic. The front displayed the equivalent of an over-sized loose pocket and a giant stuffed tail with white trim on the underside hanging from the back. I wore brown tights and a brown turtleneck underneath it. The look was completed with a pair of ears attached to a headband. Oh, how I awaited that clear and crisp fall evening where I could bounce from door to door collecting candy in my marsupial pouch.
Central New York had other plans for that night of trick-or-treating. It rained and hailed and probably snowed and it was so cold that my mother, like any good mother would, made me wear a winter jacket while making my rounds. I was so ticked off. I could no longer easily access my pouch and people handing out candy could not recognize - and appreciate - my ensemble. One simple minded neighbor had the nerve to ask if I was a cat. The final blow was when I discovered that my tail, once full of bounce, had been dragging in the muddy snow puddles for some time. It was, as I remember, a small tragedy.