My Blue Mohawk

Page four.
     I was in my twenties and early thirties while living with the Shapiros (the family with the three boys whom I lived with and nannied for eight non-consecutive years.) Besides being in college, I was also beginning to explore my creative side. One of the specific areas where my creativity was quite prolific was Halloween costuming. I'd go on to win six first prizes and one second prize over the course of a dozen years for various All Hallow's Eve get-ups. The second prize was a for a costume contest that I technically never entered so it's okay that I only got second - but that's another story. The year of this particular story is 1990.
     1990 was a pretty boring year all around. I was in school, probably a senior. I was a college senior a lot, actually, but that's besides the point. I was working toward a degree in Interpersonal Communications, a last minute change from Psychology, and had already begun the testings to determine whether or not I had learning disabilities. Bush the First was in the White House. Rosanne and Jerry ruled the TV screens and in another 90 minutes Pearl Jam and Nirvana would change the world - for better or worse.
       Halloween was a Saturday that year I think. I'd predetermined that I'd take this year off from costuming just to shake things up a bit. I already had quite a reputation for my costumes and sometimes it's good to keep them guessing by doing nothing (an artistic belief I still hold to be true.) It was a beautiful, bright sunny afternoon, I remember, and all of a sudden I had a flash. Many, many years later I'd determine that when I have a flash I need to just get out of the way and go with it. I no longer question or argue with my flashes. I simply say "Yes Dear or No Dear" and accept them. This flash dictated that I should give myself a blue Mohawk and just to balance it out, wear a tuxedo. This would be a perfect, understated, last minute costume.
     Now, at the time, Mohawks were between styles. Five years earlier or fifteen years later I'd have represented some statement, pick a statement, but at the time Mohawks simply raised eyebrows. And then, with my gorgeous, vintage 1966 tux, well... when I walked into the Halloween party it stopped and just stared. Didn't win anything that year... wasn't out to. Just wanted to have fun.
     The reason for this story though was the Shapiro's reaction. That was the closest, I think, they ever came to saying ENOUGH JEREMY, NO MORE!!! In fact, a couple days later after unwittingly answering the door and greeting one of Dad's business associates blue Mohawk uncovered, I was pulled aside and given a stern talking to about how I was teetering on the border of homelessness. Even the boys, who were normally among my greatest fans weren't sure how to take this newest style. Everybody in that house breathed a great sigh the following Saturday when I shaved it off.
     With my new shaved style, entitled "Concentration Camp Victim" I looked more acceptable. The shaved look was also between styles at the time but it was still less extremist than the poor, dear, blue Mohawk. I'd go on to reference that Mohawk in a few of my history, anthropology and sociology term papers as I was struck by how differently I was treated while having it. But really, the Shapiros still bring it up occasionally as an example of "That Darn Jeremy." Golly gosh gee, they just weren't thrilled at all. But we're still friends.