I love Halloween, especially since having Theo three years ago. The family costumes, decorating the house, going out trick or treating. The whole nine yards. We plan for weeks in advance, the costumes, the coordination, everything. Ever since he was a baby and we'd dressed him up as a little pumpkin for his first Halloween. It's taken almost as seriously as Christmas.

Except this year I've not been allowed involved in whatever Theo's costume is. It's a 'super duper top secret' according to Theo. It's all been very hush. Any deliveries with your name on it have been taken into the room and opened in secret and you smile at me with such excitment it makes me feel like a kid searching the house for Christmas presents.

I've waited until you were out taking Theo to his football practice and looked in all the typical hiding places. The cupboards where we stash Theo's birthday and Christmas presents, in the attic, the cupboard under the stairs, the garage... and I've found nothing. Not a scrap of material you'd use to put the costume together, not a single accessory that could be used. Nothing.

I really am like a kid at Christmas.

The two of you are up in Theo's room getting him ready as I sit in the livingroom using every bit of restraint any self respecting adult should have not to go peek. I mean, really? I'm a grown man, 29 years old, and I can't wait to see my sons Halloween costume.

I perk up when I hear your footsteps coming down the stairs, Theo's lighter, more carefull footsteps following. I turn to look and see what this 'super duper top secret' Halloween costume is.

"Well?" I ask when I see you stopped at the livingroom door.

You smile phone in hand, presumably recording my reaction to Theo's entrance. "Introducing for one night, and one night only, in Hempstead... Theodore Styles!" You announce.

And in he walks... Tiny red and white Adidas Gazelles, a pair of white overalls with red hearts, a white t-shirt, his curls combed back, and the brightest smile on his face. God, he's even got a little microphone in his hand.

"Oh, mate," I whisper, emotional and unable to contain the smile on my face as I kneel down to his level, "look at you."

"I'm you, daddy!"

And that just wrecks me. All the costumes in the world and my boy dressed up as me.