Shoved through our will-eat-anything mail slot, the letter landed in the midst of the day’s
scattering of junk mail. Sitting on the bottom step in the foyer of our home, I ripped open the envelope,
tearing the letter in the process. To my amazement, I found myself reading about a mahogany bedroom
suite a recently deceased aunt had bequeathed to me. I was incredulous.
 My Aunt Anne was a remarkable lady, and I have fond memories of kindnesses she bestowed
upon me as a young girl. When I pedalled my over-sized tricycle up and down the streets of my small
hometown seeking orders for “custom-designed” potholders, she was always one of my best customers.
She was a gracious hostess, and when I learned to sew, she was one of the first people I made a gift for -- a
green and white floral apron. I saw my aunt frequently when I was growing up, and she was one of my
favorite relatives.
 Shortly after my engagement was announced, Aunt Anne immediately began planning an
afternoon tea party for me at her home,the first pre-nuptial party given in my honor. However, after I
married and moved away, my aunt and I did not see much of each other any more, and our correspondence
dwindled to an annual exchange of Christmas cards.
 Several months after receiving notification about the furniture she willed to me, I still could not
believe it. One day while talking with another relative, I expressed my surprise and commented on how
touched I was that my aunt chose me to have her personal bedroom suite.
 “Why do you think Aunt Anne left her bedroom furniture to ME when there were so many others
she could have left it to?” I asked.
 “Because,” my cousin replied, “you were one of her favorites, and you never tried to tell her how
to run her life.”
 Since that time I have thought a lot about my aunt. I remember her as a stylish and attractive
Southern lady who always wore a beautiful smile. She was involved in church leadership, and she was
instrumental in the building of a new library in her community. A well-educated lady who travelled
extensively, she always seemed to know the proper way of doing things, and she appeared to have
everything a person could want.
 Though I never recall my aunt verbalizing any feelings of affection towards me, I remember
numerous “I love you’s” and “I care about you’s” expressed to me, in her own way, over the years. Saying
“I love you” or “I care about you” are words some people have difficulty saying. And, as a result
sometimes the message we want most desperately to hear or convey goes unheard or undeciphered.
 Reflecting  upon the personal tragedies my aunt had to deal with in her life, especially as a parent, I
now realize that her smile was not always a sign that she was basking in her joy ; rather, it was often a
means of masking her pain. Anyone who has ever used a smile for masking recognizes the troubled aura of
such a smile; it usually is not in sync with the person’s eyes or body language.
 Yes, I remember my Aunt Anne always wearing a beautiful smile, but I believe it wore her out
before she wore it out. A smile can be flashed off an on at will, but a human being’s emotions can’t be.

  The Bag Head

 I still become amused when I remember the day six year old Margot arrived in our kindegarten
carpool wearing a brown grocery sack over her head. Laughing at the comical sight, I asked for an
explanation. Was she pretending to be Mr. Potato Head or what?
 When no answer emerged from the bag, her exasperated mother explained, “Margot doesn’t like
her new haircut, and so she said she’s going to wear that bag over her head until her hair grows out again.”
 I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. Unfortunately, I sometimes have giggling attacks at the
worst times! As I sttod next to the car laughing, I bet Margot was sticking her tongue out at me and
shooting all kinds of awful faces in my direction! As a result of her protective head gear she was able to
express her frustration and anger in a “safe-environment.” By the time she arrived at kindegarten that day,
she was ready to leave the head bag in the car. Believe me, there have been times galore since that day,
when I wished that I could get by with Margot’s innovative masking technique so that I could safely stick
out my tongue, scrunch up my nose, or poke out my lips whenever, wherever, and at whomever I desired
without questions asked or reprimands issued.
 Halloween is a time when we can have fun masking, and it is interasting to observe the characters
portrayed by differant individuals. I have been especially interasted, during the past few years, to observe
how many adults are now dressing up on Halloween. Sometimes the characters (or creatures) they choose
to become are quite revealing.
 As a young child, I enjoyed dressing up each Halloween, and I loved trick-or-treating. In a span of
about six years, I progressed from a naive Little Bo Peep to a pathetic looking hobo. How I ever emerged as
Little Bo Peep is still an enigma to me; but, being a hobo was fun. Later, as a young mother, I enjoyed
making costumes for my children each Halloween, and this will be the first year since 1976 that I will not be
costuming one of our children or going trick-or-treating. Our daughter Melissa was never interasted in
dressing up in boring roles like Little Bo Peep or a hobo. Year after year she challenged me with zany
costume requests ranging from Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster, to a human cello! Confession: I am glad my
costume designing days are over!

 So, Who’s Coming Out of Your Closet This Halloween?

 When my husband Bill was in law school, I worked as a bank teller for three years. My first
supervisor was one of those people who made me want to stick out my tongue and scrunch up my nose
every time he came within range of my vision, which was much too often. Even though I was his
“underling,” he did not get many smiles from me -- not even masking ones. One day when business was
slow, an inner-office envelope was delivered to me. I opened the envelope and found a five word not in it
from my supervisor, “Smile -- it’s a wonderful world!”
 Yes, we do live in a wonderful world. But on that particular day, my world did not seem so
wonderful, and my Johny-come-lately supervisor made it seem even less wonderful. I did not feel like
smiling. I remember glaring down the aisle at him as he sat wedged in his swivel chair with a gooney
looking plastic grin plastered between his ears. If he had just left me alone, I probably would have been
wearing a smile by the time my next customer arrived. Yet, Mr. Sunshine’s little “put on a happy face” note
left me scowling the remainder of the day. I do not like anyone telling me how to express my feelings; most
people feel the same way.
 Whether we wear a basking smile to show our camouflage embarrassment, boredom, fear,
personal pain, or whatever, the important thing is that we are in touch with out true feelings enough to know
the differance. When we are able to differentiate between the differant types of smiles worn upon our own
face, we can then become more sensitive to the true feelings of others as well. Sensitivity and perception are
especially crucial in the role of parenting when our children need help sorting out and recognizing specific
emotions they experience and the triggering forces behind them.
 If you could be a child again, who (or what) would you dress up like the Halloween? Or what
fantasy as an adult, would you most enjoy acting out? Think about it, and be honest! Once you decide,
consider what your choice reveals about “who you are” and  “where you are” at this point in your life. I
know what I would be -- but, I’m not telling! You don’t have to tell, either.
 Working through the archives of our own lives, dealing with the here-and-now, and preparing for
the future usually fills most of our agendas. But, whenever we get to the point where we think we have our
life in perfect order - no improved roles to strive for or unfufilled dreams to spur us on -- we must refrain
from telling others how to “run their lives” (or rear their children) and use our energies reassessing our own.

  Happy October,
 Maxine Pinson