With
cases of COVID-19 on the rise in the state of Texas, and Halloween
just around the corner, Governor Greg Abbott recently signed an executive
order requiring the wearing of masks in public. Exceptions to the
order include Texans under 10 years of age (probably the demographic
that would most enjoy wearing a disguise to town), patrons eating
in restaurants, swimmers and anyone lacking ears. Speaking of restaurants,
this new order has caused a level of strident debate in the Lone Star
State not seen since Texans flipped their lids over the purchase of
the iconic Whataburger fast food chain by a Chicago investment firm
threatening to replace the Honey BBQ Chicken Strip Sandwich with a
Deep-Dish Italian Beef and Hot Dog Whatapizza.
While I'm still not sure how I feel about Governor Abbott's order
after all of the money I've spent on whitening toothpaste and nose
hair trimmers, it has inspired me to reflect on the defining moments
of mask-wearing throughout my life.
Some of my earliest memories involved those sadistic 1970's molded-plastic
Halloween masks-the ones that could make your face sweat in the Arctic
and lacerated your tongue when you couldn't resist trying to force
it through the breathing hole. I dressed up as Frankenstein one year,
and along with the vinyl face-sauna, I had a little tube of green
"blood"-because everyone knows that Mary Shelley's creature was part
Vulcan. On another Halloween, I chose a Tusken Raider/Sand Person
mask from the first Star Wars movie. My mother even made me an authentic
cloak to perfect the look and solidify my reputation as a hopeless
nerd. Despite our efforts, though, most people didn't recognize my
costume and thought I was dressed as a deformed walrus with severe
tooth decay.
When I entered my teen years in the early 1980's, my masks (and my
hygiene practices) became more elaborate and grotesque. I remember
blowing my allowance one year on a highly-detailed rubber skull mask
I found at Spencer's in the mall. The mask was the perfect complement
to my Members Only jacket and nylon Bugle Boy parachute pants. Michael
Jackson's macabre "Thriller" music video was all the rage at the time,
and I was sure that my fashion medley, combined with a playfully frightful
disguise, would be irresistible to the ladies. Instead, they just
found me frightful, and I nursed my wounded pride by using the mask
to scare the younger neighborhood kids when I answered the front door.
I only got punched in the gut a few times.
My most memorable masked incident as an adult happened when I was
newly married, and my wife and I were house-sitting for some friends
of my parents. It was bedtime, and I had discovered a rubber "old
man" mask (complete with wig) while rummaging . . . I mean walking
past an open closet. My wife had gone to the bathroom, so I slipped
out of bed and met her at the bathroom door wearing nothing but the
mask and a pair of boxer briefs. Instead of screaming or running,
she just froze in terrified silence and started crying, eliciting
a torrent of desperate apologies from me. (She still has the same
reaction to seeing me in my underwear-and I still feel the need to
apologize.)
Now that I'm a mature adult and rarely dress up like Star Wars characters
or elderly exhibitionists, the prospect of wearing a mask to Walmart
or the church house isn't too appealing. But I say let's have fun
with it. Try painting a set of hillbilly teeth on your mask, or one
of those curly mustaches you've always wanted to grow but were afraid
it wouldn't look right with your favorite shade of lipstick.
Yes, I realize that face coverings make you look like Hannibal Lecter
and sound like Charlie Brown's teacher when you talk. But at least
you can take comfort in knowing you're allowed to remove your mask
when you sit down to eat your Chicago-style Whataburger. |
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