[mashshare]

(Originally published on October 31, 2011.)

The charge from the middle school principal was clear: if you choose to wear a costume on Halloween, please use good judgment. This meant no masks, no gore and nothing that would make it hard to quickly identify the student.

Jadi, my seventh-grader, spent the weekend debating whether she should wear a costume or allow 2011 to be the year she graduated from the childhood tradition. It’s a tough call. Do you remember the first year you stopped wearing a costume to school or stopped trick-or-treating? How old were you when you began swiping candy from your sibling’s stash or from your parents’ bowl by the front door?

My daughter’s weekend-long back-and-forth was understandable. Would she be the only student in costume? Would she be teased?

On Sunday night, she tried on a dress that conjures thoughts of a strong, old-world princess. It’s not a Disney character or some other branded glittery cliche. It’s a dress that says, “I’m not Cinderella, Aurora or Ariel. I’m my own princess. Get used to it.”

When I came downstairs Monday morning, I wondered if her courage would have held overnight, or if I’d find her in the typical Old Navy uniform of today’s middle-schoolers. I smiled when I saw the dress flowing beneath her coat.

Given the day, I offered to drive her to school. Her lips said, “Sure,” but her eyes said, “Hot diggity! I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to ride the bus.”

We bypassed the designated student drop-off point so I could get her as close to the front door as possible. I noticed that not a single student walking in the door was wearing a costume.

She noticed, too.

“You going to be all right?” I asked, and she poked her head back inside the car.

“As long as I’m not the only one, I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” She was looking at me, but it was obvious she was talking to herself.

“If anyone teases you,” I said, “Just smile it away and say, ‘Are you kidding? Don’t I look amazing?’ ” She grinned and walked off.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her as the morning rolled on. I sat at my desk and pretended to concentrate on a new manuscript, digital heaps of email and my weekly Wright Words column. I marveled at her attitude and wished I could have been as courageous as a 12-year-old. Under no circumstances could I have worn a costume in middle school.

At her age, I spent so much time worrying what other kids thought of me that I forgot who I really was.

By lunchtime, I’d made my decision. If my daughter had the courage to walk in the front doors of her school wearing a smile and a princess dress, couldn’t I go back in time and be a brave seventh-grader, too?

I dusted off a costume I wore to a neighborhood party years ago and raced to school. I checked in at the front office and asked if Jadi could swing by the office on the way to the cafeteria.

Five minutes later, my independent princess pushed open the office door. Her eyes were so big I could barely see the rest of her face. She smiled, giggled, gave me a hug and giggled some more.

I learned that she wasn’t the only one in a costume, but the others were few and far between. She admitted she’d heard a few whispered teases. She also said she’d heard from a few who didn’t bother whispering at all. But more than anything, she’d heard compliments, including one from her principal that made Jadi smile so wide, I’m certain she’ll remember the moment for the rest of her life.

Before I left, we took a picture, met a few teachers and I told her how proud I was to be her dad. She thanked me – twice – and scurried off to lunch.

Back at my desk, as I punch out this very column, I reflect back on my 40 Halloweens celebrated in five states and in three countries on three continents. Most of the memories are sweeter than a pillowcase full of candy. But if I live for another 40 Halloweens, it’s hard to imagine enjoying another more than this one.

I hope when the candy is gone and the costumes are back in boxes, I’ll remember what the face of courage looks like. I sure hope some of it rubbed off on me.

Finally, if you’ve got a daughter, I hope you’ll let her be her own kind of princess for as long as she dares. And if you own a bull riding costume, don’t be afraid to stand beside her.

[mashshare]

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