I don't know why we named him Mr. Gristle Head, it just sounded right. Mr. Gristle Head was actually a styrofoam wig stand (or holder, or whatever the correct term is) that belonged to my mother in the 1970s. As Gen Xers, my sister, brother, Play Stations, iPods, and the internet didn't exist yet, so we had to actually use our imagination to come up with cool shit to do, and we did. It was during one of those days when we had to find something to do that my mother's wig stand met with a most unfortunate makeover, becoming Mr. Gristle Head for all eternity.
One winter afternoon, my sister and I decided to kidnap my mother's wig stand and mutilate it beyond recognition. I can only guess we did this out of pure boredom, but as it is decades later, the exact whys, hows and wherefores are mere speculation on my part.
First, we unearthed our old LITE-BRITE® pegs from somewhere. I think we had them in a large freezer bag in a dresser drawer. We began by sticking the LITE-BRITE® pegs into the styrofoam wig stand, which we began referring to it as "the head." Once we started, there was no stopping. The wig head must be covered with colorful pegs, and so it was. We stuck the pegs close together, so close that barely an empty space could be found on the wig head.
Conveniently, there was already a hole in the bottom of the wig head. It was made that way. I'm assuming wig heads were traditionally displayed in wig stores on large wooden pegs or something to keep them from falling over. So, fortunately, we had an empty hole in the bottom of the wig head, and a baton that would fit perfectly into that hole.
Next, we decided to somehow put some clothes on our new Frankenstein-like creation. We found an old shirt belonging to my dad, and we buttoned it around the wig head. Of course, the wig head had no shoulders, so the shirt draped over it, giving it a ghostly, yet comical look.
Now what? We have killed my mother's wig head stand and stolen a shirt belonging to my dad. The next logical step in this improvisational moment of cleverness was to name the beast. As I stated at the very beginning, I don't know why we chose to call him Mr. Gristle Head (or why we decided it was a "him" because the wig head was already wearing blue eyeshadow and red lipstick), but we did. We paraded him around, holding the end of the baton, marching him down the hall and through the dining room, into the kitchen. I think we even took Mr. Gristle Head outside. We tried scaring our little brother, though he recognized the now destroyed wig head immediately, and the LITE-BRITE® pegs just weren't scary.
I'm not really sure why I'm even telling Mr. Gristle Head's story. Probably because it popped into my head one day last week, out of know where, and I felt the tale must be told. Believe it or not, Mr. Gristle Head suck around for a few years, mostly hiding out in the closet, making an occasional appearance at Halloween.
Perhaps Mr. Gristle Head is important because my sister and I were extremely proud of the creativity displayed in the design and execution of our plans to create such a unique being. Perhaps he is important because we took something from our mom and destroyed it without getting into too much trouble. Those are possibilities, but whatever the ridiculous reason, Mr. Gristle Head was a holding space for our LITE-BRITE® pegs (I don't think we even had the LiteBrite at that time...it bit the dust years before), a conversation piece, and a bit of my personal childhood history that I look back on with fondness...though I really don't know why. Long live Mr. Gristle Head.
--Fortuitous Observer
