Why I Love My Ghosts

Halloween is strange by any measure. My exquisite little childhood fear around this unholy holiday had to do with ghosts. With me as a ghost, actually.

My family had neither money, time nor interest in costumes or sensitivities to the rigors of peer pressure in elementary school. So apart from the excitement of a healthy dose of sweets (not allowed at our house) I dreaded Halloween. Or rather the school version which featured an obligatory line-up in our get-ups then a parade-march from one classroom to every single other classroom showing off our goods.

For at least three years running, I was always the same: a head-down girl hiding under a stained white sheet clumping along behind Superman, sparkling Tinkerbell, Cinderella in a gown and pointy slippers and various other beauteous heroes and heroines of the era.

I would inevitably hear snide remarks from the teachers as I passed, along the line of, “Oh it’s her again under that pathetic sheet.”

Remember that, all the ways you felt not-enough? That you were shamed—by your poverty, clothes, food, performance in school?

But these memories CAN become treasures. (Ah, here’s another: my science fair project on planets, SO homemade and inept next to everyone else’s brilliant creations [aided by attentive parents]. And the same project for three years running because it was all I could manage on my own.)

Under the pen, though, I have discovered so much goodness and treasure here. It starts with naming our ghosts (THERE! I did it! That’s the first time I’ve told that second grade “ghost” story! It feels so good to let it out.)

We all carry so many “ghost” stories. I hope you will not let your ghosts ghost you. Meaning, don’t let them disappear. Call them out. Name them. Hold them up to the light and you will see something more than fear and a stained sheet. You will see where you came from, that you have been lead so far from those classrooms and parades-of-shame, that there are gifts even in that humble soil.

These memories lead me to joy and gratitude. I thank God for the tiny graces in the little. (The candy after the parade!) I thank God for the little so I do not forget the grace of much.
And I thank God for the memory of shame, that I may see and lift and brighten someone else’s.

I don’t want to waste any of it. I hope you won’t either.