That explains everything.

Note: I originally wrote this for the Blogathon, but I figured that I can't possibly tell too many Halloween stories.

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Rarely does one have a photograph of an incident that is responsible for who you become later in life.

I have this one.

I've mentioned before that I scare easily. I blamed it on the house where I grew up. Perhaps I should reexamine this Kodak moment and face reality -- I've got one seriously sadistic mother.

It was near Halloween at the Topanga Plaza in Los Angeles. Basically it's a "holiday portrait" mall shot with a twist. Like a Santa's Village or The Easter Bunny's Rabbit Hole, this photo-taking extravaganza was set up for the sole purpose of torturing little children.

I'm two years-old in this photograph. I'm just forming fears and issues. I'm about to be emotionally scarred into really hating witches and vampires.

The moment I saw the set-up, I knew my worst nightmares were about to begin.
The tears started flowing and I started screaming. For some reason (see above sadism), this didn't affect my mother.

I distinctly remember the man-vampire responsible for ushering the crowds. Even at two, I could tell he was flirting with my mom. At this moment, I instantly associated vampires with evil men trying to steal my mother away. Vampires are sexualized -- maybe that's their gimmick. Tell that to a little child.

So, I'm crying and still standing in line when it's time for me to take my picture with a witch. Although I tried to hold on to my mother's leg, the vampire forcibly picked me up and brought me to my date with the devil.

If you look closely in the photo, you can see the tears.

Yeah! Halloween.

For years after this photograph was taken, I would wear a scarf to bed in order to avoid Dracula's bite.

Comments

[Shelley]

It is a relief to know that I am not alone in blaming my parents for early-Halloween-inflicted-torture! For me, it was a bunny costume, of all things. My father was very into stage make-up and insisted on subjecting his children to pain and agony every Halloween by painting our faces very elaborately.

When I was three, I was a bunny. My father coated my face in white facepaint and added a pink nose and whiskers. Added ears, cute tail, the works. Then they made the mistake of showing me the mirror.

An hour of screaming, tears and tissues later, I went out trick-or-treating WITHOUT makeup.

Today, I am facing my fears, and I came to work as a bunny - face paint and all. I have the photo of my three year old self around my neck. Everyone says, "Awwww... you were so cute!". Little do they know!

[Ed]

Mena: A candid and brave post. Congrats.