My dad found a way to be helpful
Whenever the nativity play rolled around, you could guarantee that those pupils with parents from a better off background would actually be wearing outfits that resembled the part they were playing. If you were like me, however, schooled in the art of bin-bag Halloween’s, then your outfit was never particularly suitable for the role you were trying to encapsulate and you may as well wear a sign around your neck to describe the outfit you intended to sport for all the audience had a clue.

That was until my Dad realised that perhaps he could help.

I was eight years old at the time, and having usually left the costume making to my overworked mother, the discovery of my part in this year's play made my Dad realise he may be of use. With the enthusiasm of a parent wanting only the very best for their offspring, my Dad got to work making a costume surely to steal the show, regardless of whether I actually had any lines in the play or not. Many subsequent evenings he came home late, tirelessly using his work facilities to sculpt his masterpiece.

As the performance day approached, I began to worry that the costume may not be ready in time, and once again I would have to make do with some vague approximation of my military part. It wasn't until the evening before the dress rehearsal that my Dad eventually came home with his masterpiece.

When I saw it I was ecstatic. It was everything an eight year old could ever want. I tried it on, and spent the evening buzzing and wanting to show my friends the next day.
I borrowed my Dad's huge holiday bag and packed it with the costume first thing the next morning, beaming all the way to school and impatient for the dress rehearsal to start. I couldn't hide my enthusiasm from my classmates, but wouldn't reveal my masterpiece until the dress rehearsal was starting.

The teachers were preoccupied while we were getting ready, so I was able to don my outfit without their attention whilst dazzling my peers around me.

However the look on their faces when they finally did pay attention was one of both shock and fear.

In front of them was a child with a broadsword. A sharp, bludgeon friendly broadsword. A broadsword so heavy, the child could barely hold it with one arm. A child known to have quite severe temper tantrums. Not only did this child have a broadsword, but also a shield as tall as he was and a sharp child-shish-kebabing spear also. In front of them was a smiling little terrorist who they could only assume was ready to get old testament on their asses. In my Dad's infinite wisdom, he had armed his eight year old son with deadly weaponry and sent him off to school.

You see, my Dad was a sheet metal worker, so not much use in costume making when I was a penguin, but when he had an opportunity to be useful, he went at it with unadulterated enthusiasm. I was in tears when they confiscated it and ended up once again with an outfit that barely represented what it was intended to, though for that brief moment, I had the best costume.
( ma0sm, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 17:51, 3 replies)

I hope you got it back eventually
it'd be a shame for all your dad's hard work to have gone to waste.
(Uncle Comrade, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 19:28, closed)

Yeah
Though they wouldn't hand it back to me personally, they did give it back to my parents and took the opportunity to tell them the school policy on deadly weapons.
( ma0sm, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 9:11, closed)

oh dear
FACISTS!
(Lurkaloid awarded wanking black belt on, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 20:05, closed)