More Than a Costume

You might have noticed that I avoid politics when I write here. If you’re a Facebook friend or someone who knows my music, you know I avoid it there too. I grew up with the unspoken understanding that politics and religion are private matters; better left at the door when in public, especially at meals. I still think that’s a good policy, but it’s not just a matter of politeness for me. I have painfully thin skin. Criticism, argument, challenges are not comfortable spaces for me. I’m also easily swayed (within reason) to see multiple sides of an issue. The most important ones are complicated and nuanced. Most of the time I don’t feel like I know enough to have a solid point-of-view, which is to say, I’m not willing to stick my neck out in a public forum. I just wouldn’t survive.

            I thought I’d write something about Halloween today, tell you about the batgirl glasses I lazily pull out each year to wear around town, or the girl-sized UNICEF Box costume my mother made for me out of cardboard and orange poster board when I was in 3^rd grade, the one I couldn’t trick or treat in after the first couple of houses because my knees couldn’t bend enough to get up my neighbors’ front steps. But before I sat down to write and figure out how any of those things could make a story, I got some breakfast, which means I overheard the news coming from Brent’s office. I’m finding it difficult to switch from the news around the world to something about Halloween costumes. Instead, I’m reminded of a different kind of costume.

            In 2012, Brent wanted to walk in the annual Fourth of July parade in the town where we lived in rural Colorado. The political landscape was bubbling over with the gun issue, an issue I have no problem standing firm on. I’m against them. Without my knowing, Brent ordered an Uncle Sam costume for himself, and a Statue of Liberty costume for me complete with a crown and torch. I was reluctant to wear it. I don’t love parades to begin with, and at the time my skin was thinner than usual. I knew I’d be harassed by on-lookers of a different persuasion. We were walking with the Democrats, a very small minority in our little town, and the gun issue was top of mind for everyone.

            It was a beautiful fourth of July morning when I put my polyester costume on and I immediately felt its power. I wanted to stand up tall just like Lady Liberty.

When we got to the parade site, our friend Roland, who was the head of the local Democratic Party, asked if I would walk up front, alone, ahead of the banner others would carry to identify who we were. I felt vulnerable at first, but as we walked through town, Lady Liberty became more than a costume. She was a beacon, and I represented her. For the first time, I understood her message and her power. There were only a few hecklers. Mostly, the small-town crowd cheered and clapped for her. People waved and smiled. I felt proud and good being in her skin.

Now, I want to protect her.

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