All my life, I have loved Halloween. I know that's nothing special, especially for gay men (or boys). For many of us, the chance to dress up, pretend to be someone else, express ourselves in creative and fanciful ways was something we eagerly awaited all year long. For me, it was always the chance to be one of the many superheroes I world read about in the dozens of comic books I devoured on a weekly basis. There was Superman, Green Lantern, even Underdog! I had homemade costumes meticulously made out of spandex and felt by my grandmother after spending hours in the fabric store researching Butterick or Simplicity patterns. But I also loved the store-bought, plastic one-piece jumpsuits with the matching mask that came in the cardboard boxes with cellophane windows from Woolworth's or Key Rexall Drug Store. Hell, I would even try to convince my mother to let me wear my Aquaman Underoos out trick-or-treating, only to be told, "You are not going out in your underwear!"
As I got older, Halloween was still fun, but before I came out it was more an exercise in balancing my participation with trying to look like I didn't really care about dressing up so as to not draw too much attention. Frankly, it sucked. It was like being given a gift you really wanted but being to...
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