Holy Daze of Obligation

Today, Nov. 1, in the Roman Catholic ecclesiatical calendar, is "All Souls' Day," the antithesis of "Hallowe'en," the night before, when the unquiet dead are said to move about.
"All Saints' Day" celebrates the quiescent, honored departed, who gained Heaven on the first try.. There are literally uncounted/ uncountable THOUSANDS of them, many martyred, all of whom come in for hagiographic attention on All Souls' Day.
It's also the anniversary of the first time, of many, I was ever sent home from school.
In Cleveland, OH, in the suburbs of which I grew up in the '50s, to act as a counterpoise to all the "Hallowe'en" mischief, children in Roman Catholic/parochial schools were encouraged to attend school on Nov. 1 costumed as either their favorite, or their namesake, "Saint." In my case, there are LOTS of "Saints John": Chrysostom; Damascene, Revelator, the Baptist, etc. There are literally scores of 'em. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_John)
But my "patron Saint" was/is "John, the Baptist," who was martyred by being decapitated at the whim of the Babylonian whore, Salome. So, that year ('55? 56?), my father--who had a mordant sense of humor to go along with an agnostic sensibility--decided to send me to school as St. John, the Baptist's HEAD.
To prepare the illusion, he made a platter from a large, aluminum pie baking dish, by cutting out a hole in it for my head, slipped it around my neck (after dulling the edges), wrapped the rest of me in a "blood-stained" sheet, and off I went.
And back I came.
With a harsh note from the parish priest about blasphemy.
My school desisted from that "All Souls'" practice, thereafter.