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No, I think the scariest thing in life is being hated.
I remember one Halloween a long time ago. It was once upon a time in a faraway country that didn’t celebrate Halloween. But we lived near a compound of American expats who all were eager to trick-or-treat even if the world around them didn’t know what the heck we were doing.
I was small but not too small. I was nine years old. I remember that we didn’t have any stores to go to buy the latest and greatest out-of-the-box costumes, so we had to be creative.
Mother thought it best that I be transformed into a witch.
She found a long black wig, made a pointed hat from black construction paper, powdered my face white, gave me a mole, painted my lips green, and molded a nose out of puddy. She even found long sharp plastic fingernails.
I wore Dad’s black coat that we pinned up so it wouldn’t drag on the ground. We had a switch broom from the gardener that had real twigs. I looked just like the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz, one of the scariest creatures I had ever seen on TV.
My little brother was turned into a pirate with a red sash, a wooden sword dad made in his shop, and an eye patch. He looked good enough. For the six-year-old, it was more about the bags of candy than any style in his costume.
My teenage brothers were asked to accompany us across the street and make sure we stayed safe. They were motivated by the possibility of stealing our candy and meeting teenage girls.
When I was finished with the last of my makeup I walked down the stairs where my little brother was waiting. There was one problem. My pirate brother didn’t understand that his sister in the witch costume was not a real witch. He screamed and shouted and ran into the kitchen.
I was the scariest witch — maybe the first witch — he had ever seen.
After it was explained to him that I wasn’t a real witch but his older sister, he finally calmed down. But that evening he did not take my hand. He kept staring up at me saying, “You’re scary, you’re scary, I hate you.”
As we walked across the two streets to get to the small American community, I noticed that the other kids were already out and about trick or treating. As soon as they saw me they ran away.
We didn’t even make it to the first door when I felt it. It came flying across the grass and hit me in the stomach. Then another one at my back, and another. Kids were throwing the rotting crab apples and chestnuts at me. I was being attacked.
They shouted, “Kill the witch, Kill the witch, Kill the witch!”
I was terrified. And started crying. My older brothers laughed and lobbed a few apples back at the cowboy, astronaut, and Superman who were causing the trouble.
My whole life I tried so hard to fit in even though I was an outsider wherever I went. Inside my family, I was the only girl of four children. My brothers never let me play with them, they teased me for being a girl and made fun of me because I "smelled" like a girl.
When I was a new kid in school I tried hard to make friends fast, form alliances, and become part of something so I wouldn’t be an outsider. I adapted to everything by changing my clothing and my hairstyle to fit in because belonging was all that was important.
When the kids wanted to “kill me” I suddenly knew what it felt like to be hated and feared.
I never did get any candy that Halloween. One of my brothers took me home. I washed off the makeup, tore up the hat, screamed at my mother for doing this to me, and then crawled into bed.
Even though I was scared to death of being unwanted and hurt, I suddenly felt ashamed of my reaction. I felt small and ungrateful.
I was the girl with golden hair, genetically given a pass so many people don’t have. I lived in a good home with everything I ever needed — health, good food, clean clothes, and safety.
From that moment on I made it my mission in life to not only fit in but take all the people no one paid attention to and bring them along with me.
My friends became the girl who was too tall, too thin, or too fat. My friends became the people no one wanted to have as friends. They were all colors, beige, brown, shy, too goofy, and too smart. The girl with the leg braces and the other girl in the wheelchair. And the girl who didn’t speak English well because her parents were from a different country.
They all became my friends and I protected them. I didn’t let anyone throw things at my friends.
Today I am glad that mom turned me into a hated witch that Halloween because it changed my life and I learned a lesson. I will never ever hate anyone for looking different and being different because I know what the scariest thing in life is and it's not being a witch — it's hate!
How Being A Witch Taught Me How Not To Hate
I often think of what really scares me. Is it death? Or ghosts? A loud sound in the night? Monsters? Or dark forests?No, I think the scariest thing in life is being hated.
I was small but not too small. I was nine years old. I remember that we didn’t have any stores to go to buy the latest and greatest out-of-the-box costumes, so we had to be creative.
Mother thought it best that I be transformed into a witch.
She found a long black wig, made a pointed hat from black construction paper, powdered my face white, gave me a mole, painted my lips green, and molded a nose out of puddy. She even found long sharp plastic fingernails.
I wore Dad’s black coat that we pinned up so it wouldn’t drag on the ground. We had a switch broom from the gardener that had real twigs. I looked just like the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz, one of the scariest creatures I had ever seen on TV.
My little brother was turned into a pirate with a red sash, a wooden sword dad made in his shop, and an eye patch. He looked good enough. For the six-year-old, it was more about the bags of candy than any style in his costume.
My teenage brothers were asked to accompany us across the street and make sure we stayed safe. They were motivated by the possibility of stealing our candy and meeting teenage girls.
When I was finished with the last of my makeup I walked down the stairs where my little brother was waiting. There was one problem. My pirate brother didn’t understand that his sister in the witch costume was not a real witch. He screamed and shouted and ran into the kitchen.
I was the scariest witch — maybe the first witch — he had ever seen.
After it was explained to him that I wasn’t a real witch but his older sister, he finally calmed down. But that evening he did not take my hand. He kept staring up at me saying, “You’re scary, you’re scary, I hate you.”
As we walked across the two streets to get to the small American community, I noticed that the other kids were already out and about trick or treating. As soon as they saw me they ran away.
We didn’t even make it to the first door when I felt it. It came flying across the grass and hit me in the stomach. Then another one at my back, and another. Kids were throwing the rotting crab apples and chestnuts at me. I was being attacked.
They shouted, “Kill the witch, Kill the witch, Kill the witch!”
I was terrified. And started crying. My older brothers laughed and lobbed a few apples back at the cowboy, astronaut, and Superman who were causing the trouble.
My whole life I tried so hard to fit in even though I was an outsider wherever I went. Inside my family, I was the only girl of four children. My brothers never let me play with them, they teased me for being a girl and made fun of me because I "smelled" like a girl.
When I was a new kid in school I tried hard to make friends fast, form alliances, and become part of something so I wouldn’t be an outsider. I adapted to everything by changing my clothing and my hairstyle to fit in because belonging was all that was important.
When the kids wanted to “kill me” I suddenly knew what it felt like to be hated and feared.
I never did get any candy that Halloween. One of my brothers took me home. I washed off the makeup, tore up the hat, screamed at my mother for doing this to me, and then crawled into bed.
Even though I was scared to death of being unwanted and hurt, I suddenly felt ashamed of my reaction. I felt small and ungrateful.
I was the girl with golden hair, genetically given a pass so many people don’t have. I lived in a good home with everything I ever needed — health, good food, clean clothes, and safety.
From that moment on I made it my mission in life to not only fit in but take all the people no one paid attention to and bring them along with me.
My friends became the girl who was too tall, too thin, or too fat. My friends became the people no one wanted to have as friends. They were all colors, beige, brown, shy, too goofy, and too smart. The girl with the leg braces and the other girl in the wheelchair. And the girl who didn’t speak English well because her parents were from a different country.
They all became my friends and I protected them. I didn’t let anyone throw things at my friends.
Today I am glad that mom turned me into a hated witch that Halloween because it changed my life and I learned a lesson. I will never ever hate anyone for looking different and being different because I know what the scariest thing in life is and it's not being a witch — it's hate!
