When I was 6 and mom was 23 we lived in a basement apartment in Fairbanks, Alaska. It was a decent apartment in a respectable neighborhood and, even though it did not have a single window, not even those little half-windows you often see in basements, it was killing my mom to pay for it. Every morning mom woke up at 7am, got me ready for school, and then went back to bed until 10. At 10 she got up again, showered, and worked from 11 until 3pm waiting tables at a nearby dinner. She then picked me up at school, helped me with my homework, made dinner, and did normal mother/daughter activities until my bedtime at 7pm. Mom then worked from 8pm until 3am cleaning the interior of airplanes after international flights. The neighbor would look in on me every hour for free.

So free time was in short supply and my mom forgot about Halloween until the afternoon before the hallowed event. I chatted on incessantly that afternoon about the Halloween parade I was going to be a part of. Sharply at noon our teacher was going to lead our whole class through the school, in and out of each classroom, where we would show off our costumes and collect candy. It was a sad little affair, but more than enough to please a six-year-old. Any break from the monotony of school was brilliant. When mom asked about my costume I brought out a paper cat mask I had made. It was cut from a book and hand colored, black then white and black again. It tied on with a piece of yarn, which was already tearing through the thin paper. I was too young to feel any shame about this pathetic little mask. I just wanted to be a cat. It was almost 7pm by this time and mom quietly put me to bed.

At lunch the next day my whole table buzzed about the Halloween parade. I ate very little, leaving room for buckets of candy. I was squishing tatter tots with my fork when mom appeared beside me, clutching a paper bag. The cafeteria monitors were alarmed until she explained who she was, and I was beside myself with happiness, proud that all my friends were seeing my mom, who with the inexperience of youth I considered the most beautiful woman in the world. Silently my mom drew out a wonderful cat mask, silky black with a jeweled nose and ears. I recognize the gems from a much coveted paste necklace my mother owned. Tight filling black leather gloves followed, a necessity when cleaning unheated planes at 1am in Alaska, with a jewel pasted on each finger to represent claws. A long black tail with a red bow at the base and a fancy collar, cut from mom’s fake satin blanket, completed my costume. I was ecstatic. I felt myself the most striking participant in the Halloween parade and refused to take my costume off, which resulted in a visit to the principal and a note to my mother, which, this once, she overlooked.