Pardon Me, Have You Seen My Head?

Among my father's talents was his ability to make wicked-scary scarecrows. I recall one Halloween party, I was perhaps 9 or 10, when he hung a dead guy from the shower head in the guest bathroom. I watched him put it up and yet I was terrified to go inside the creepy, green-lit powder room. (I'm pretty sure I didn't pee until that thing was taken down).

Every year we put up our own, far-less scary version on the front steps. He's always clad in my oldest, most well-loved USC sweatshirt. Sometimes he's battling it out with a UCLA scarecrow, crushing him under his boot (as it should be).

This year the crows are arranged to pick lovingly from the cavity that should otherwise house his head, hay pours forth from his belly and gnarled hands pat the pumpkin near his feet. Harry helped me stuff him, pretty baffled by this activity, I think. As soon as the kids are old enough I'll get them to add their own embellishments....maybe we'll make some kiddie scarecrows out of their jeans. Our own little family of zombies, right here in Rosemont.