Hallowe’en is just around the corner, and the costume catalogues are arriving in the mail. Skimming through one to see what the well-heeled goblin will be sporting this season, we came across a few surprises.
This outfit on the left may have lifted an eyebrow or two ten years ago — but today? Are we really allowed to do this anymore? Won’t an outraged neighbor start shrieking “unfit parents” and demand state custody proceedings?
Toddlers are getting thrown out of schools just for pointing fingers at each other and saying “Bang!” What happens when young Mordecai here shows up at the neighbors’ houses with his toy Uzi? I’ll tell you: SWAT teams from neighboring villages mobilize, police choppers start circling and a neighborhood lockdown takes effect until the pint-sized militiaman is subdued, cuffed and hauled away to a maximum security institution.
Still, there has to be a reason that the costume is offered. There must be demand somewhere in our great land for something other than Teletubby and Shrek outfits, and I suspect I know where. It ain’t on the coasts.
Nor, as you can see, is this costume an outlier. It’s one of several choices that involve “blasters,” swords of impressive capability and other instruments generally frowned upon in the playgrounds of the enlightened. The one to the left is styled “Skull Commando;” the one one the right is “Zombie Hunter.”
What, we wonder, if a group of small-town preeteens elect to club up and all purchase costumes of this stripe, and then stroll down the Maple Lane of their hamlet? I would pay to see it.
You get the point. In times past, we probably would have smiled and chalked it up to the natural inclination of youngsters to play cops and robbers, or cowboys and indians, or good guys and bad guys, and given it little thought. Today is a different story, because there’s a whole population out there that wants to believe that they can whisper incantations and wave magic wands, pass laws, ban squirt guns and make the bad things all go away.
Did little Elmer chew his piece of toast into the shape of a pistol? Therapy! Was young Thaddeus drawing pictures of exploding tanks being strafed by fighter jets? Medication! And, lest you think that the distaff side of childhood does not harbor a dark and dangerous affection for violence, our friends at the costume shop have news for you: