On Halloween Costumes

I have, like, 5 trump card stories in the ol' filing cabinet. A joke that is guaranteed to insult everyone who hears it, plus 4 knock-socks-off stories from my past. Like a blankie, I cling to them in times of need.

Last night I was hanging out with friends and the subject of Halloween costumes came up. 'Tis the season and all that. So, the Boyfriend said: "Ester, tell them about the time your mom dressed up in blackface!"

Ah, yes, Trump Card Story #3. But first, back story*.

First of all, my mother is white. She is also an activist. And a sociologist... was a professor, and an aerobics instructor. Really. She's a pretty good novice photographer, too. In the 80's she was obsessed with taking pictures of industrial patterns -- like street grates with gnarly shadows running across. But amid all of these talents, I suspect that there is also a tiny little punk rock grrrl hiding inside of her that was forced to remain dormant much of her academic, motherly adult life. And so, every once in a while and much to my horror, it would emerge.

Example 1: When she dyed the short hair at the nape of her neck bright purple and had her initials carved in.

Example 2: Another Halloween costume, Betty Poop. I'll leave that to the imagination.

So, Halloween 1991. This was the year that the Clarence Thomas supreme court hearings were taking place. Anita Hill took Judge Thomas to court for sexual harassment, and we watched a lot of the hearings as a family. It was a landmark case, and very important to my activist, feminist mom. It really was a cruel showing of the American judicial system, and we watched dignity just get torn to shreds by the unrelenting mockery and corruption of a system and by Judge Thomas himself, despite Anita Hill's poise and intelligence. (For more on this I highly recommend http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anita_Hill.)

My mom decided to show her support for Anita Hill. How, might you ask?

By dressing up as Clarence Thomas, complete with judicial robes, blackface, and -- wait for it --eraser caps stuck up her nose to flare her nostrils. She carried a set of scales with a black barbie doll dressed as Anita Hill on one side and a Pepsi can with a curly wire (again, see Wikipedia) on the other.

I was 13.

You can imagine, I'm sure, what it's like to be in that rare position of horror. While I am, and have always been, proud of my mother's commitment to social justice, this was TOTALLY humiliating. And I will say that a major part of her activism is around racial inequality. But STILL. And yet, there was some small well of pride that I felt as well. 'Cause it was ballsy. You know what this made me? A little neurotic.

And yet, she did give me Trump Card #3. And I love this story. More than the shocking joke. So what's a girl to do?... except dress up as Condaleeza Rice this year. I'm kidding. Mostly.

* Let it be said that I love my mom very, very much. She is my hero, for sure.