Matthew Burnette, Staff Writer

It was surprising to see so many Toy Story themed costumes during this year’s Halloween festivities and a very pleasant one at that.

The film series (yes, even the fourth one) is one that I’ve enjoyed for as long as I can remember which I guess would be around ’96 or ’97 when we received the first film on VHS.

I can recall on numerous occasions inconspicuously peering around the corner to try and catch mine and my brother’s toys conversing and walking about the room. They were always able to evade me, but it didn’t stop me from trying.

When the second film came out, I first got to see it at a church sleepover in our fellowship hall. As the movie progressed, I had to excuse myself into the hallway so none of my fellow church youth could see me crying at the scene where Jessie gets dropped off for donation by her owner.

The third film was released around the time that high school graduation was approaching.

The joys of youth were on their way to merge into the weighty decisions and obstacles of adulthood, so I found myself a blubbering mess at the final scene where Andy leaves for college and leaves all of his favorite toys behind with a new owner who could appreciate them.

My eyes are starting to well up at the thought of it. I don’t know that a film franchise has ever tugged at my heartstrings more veraciously than Toy Story has, and that’s saying something because I am a notorious movie crier.

While the movies often evoke tears that stem from a mix of joy and sadness, all of the Toy Story themed costumes reminded me of another emotion the franchise led me to feel many years ago: embarrassment.

It was my kindergarten year in school. My love of the first film was in full effect. That year I sported a pair of tennis shoes with pictures of Buzz Lightyear on the sides.

As an added bonus, the treads on the bottom were imprinted with the image of everyone’s favorite space ranger so that when I stepped on the dirt on the school playground, it would leave a picture of Buzz.

Halloween was fast approaching. Costume shopping, as I’ve since found to be true with most kids, proved to be incredibly difficult because we always had trouble deciding on a costume to wear.

Then, as we browsed around a local thrift store, my mom came across a Mr. Potato Head costume. It just so happened to be my size, and I was convinced to don the testy tuber for that year’s festivities.

My mom bought a long-sleeved white shirt to mimic his arms and a costume bowler hat. She painted my face to look like Mr. Potato Head, and on the day of Halloween, I went to school.

There were parts of me that were somewhat uncomfortable. I was always a shy kid (and in many ways still am to this day) and I didn’t really want anyone to know that the major focal piece of my costume came used from a thrift store.

How I thought someone would gather that information escapes me still.

To make matters even worse, the annual tradition at my elementary school was to have a Halloween parade around the gym, a fact that I either forgot or didn’t know about with it being my first year at the school.

Basically, each class would walk around the perimeter of the gym a couple of times so that everyone could see their costumes and then stop and take a picture that would go into the yearbook.

Being the lowest grade at the school, my class was first up. As we started our trip around the gym, I noticed other students in the crowd seeing my costume and beginning to laugh. Some of the teachers were as well.

An older kid from the crowd saw me and immediately shouted “Hey, Mr. Potato Head!”

Looking back on it now, I’m not sure why that was so devastating because it wasn’t particularly clever and there were obviously worse things he could have said, but my five-year-old self didn’t think so.

By the time we got back to our seats, my cheeks were as red as the skin on a particular type of potato, and I felt nearly as small as one. For the remainder of the assembly, I felt like everyone was staring at me and wanted to go hide somewhere.

Then, as everything started to wind down, they announced that prizes were going to be given out to the best costumes. I don’t remember if each grade had a best or exactly how it was broken up, but I do remember vividly my name being called to accept a first-place prize.

I don’t know that the embarrassment immediately subsided because I had to go back out in front of the crowd, but upon reflection now, I can’t help but think about how lucky I was.

I’m sure that there were probably kids that day that didn’t have costumes to wear for a variety of reasons, and while mine may not have been an expensive store-bought outfit, it was one that was put together with a lot of care.

Somehow, despite a multitude of obstacles that often presented themselves, my parents, and particularly in this case my mom, were able to give us a childhood that was full of joy and laughter.

 And I’m especially grateful that something as silly as a Toy Story Halloween costume reminds me of that fact.