The Little One just wrote a story at school about the Halloween he dressed as a clown. I love to read his writing. He works so hard at it, and unfortunately seems to have the same little voices in his head that I do, telling him it is not good enough. He feels quite proud of his clown piece though, and he should. It captures a feeling.
What his story can’t capture is the feeling I had seeing my baby dressed in his father’s clothes. Big D had several years that he dressed as a clown, and several of the wardrobe pieces had a second life as PeeWee Herman. (That was the year I went as Miss Yvonne, in the pre-arrest years when it was all still a Big Adventure.) Big D is, well, really tall and the clown suit was too small, for great comic effect. It was too small, but I still didn’t think it would fit an 8 year old. But, sure enough, when the Little One did not have a costume planned on Halloween eve, he just pulled random items out of the costume box in the basement and came out as a clown. Not Lanky the Tall Clown. Maybe Cranky, the Little Clown. Anyway, it is still one of my favorite photos of all time. Check out the size 14 shoes.
There is something very “full-circle” about seeing my son in my husband’s clothes. Even if they are clown clothes.