Look, kids, we need to talk.
There’s something that’s been bothering me for close to a week now and I need to get it off my chest.
I realize that, to a certain extent, this isn’t your fault. You’re just kids and you don’t really know better (apparently). You’re attracted to shiny wrapping and flashy covers because your brains haven’t developed enough yet to understand the difference between an enticing outer layer and the real quality that’s supposed to lie underneath. And, if I’m being honest, the responsibility for teaching you how to make that distinction falls on my shoulders more than anyone else’s.
I can see by the looks in your faces that you’re starting to get uncomfortable – frankly, so am I – so I’ll just come out with it.
The two of you picked horrible Halloween candy.
Most of what you took was fine. I’m not one of those people who gets all worked up about candy comparisons or ranking various types of chocolate bars. I don’t need to debate the merits of Sour Patch Kids vs. Snickers, Twizzlers vs. Twix or Mike & Ike’s vs. M&Ms; of course, I like some better than others but I’m not out to shame anyone for saying they like Butterfingers better than Baby Ruths. I won’t even go after the sociopaths who like candy corn, and that’s only partially because I used to be part of that group. At some point, all of these candy brands get the job done so there’s no sense in getting all worked up about them.
But.
There was one apartment that we visited when we were trick-or-treating that offered such potential for your understanding of sugar appreciation. Every neighborhood has one of these homes. They’re the stuff of legends, mythical places that are not always easy to spot. It’s the challenge of the hunt that makes these homes so much more rewarding when you finally find them.
It’s the home that hands out full-size candy bars.
This home that we found, an apartment in your friends’ building, was a revelation. We had discovered the treasure trove of chocolate, the mother lode of Milky Ways, the cavern of candy. You and your friends banged on the door and yelled “Trick or treat!” louder than a SWAT team breaching the perimeter. The woman opened the door holding a silver platter filled to the edges with Hershey bars, Snickers, Twix, Twizzlers… you name it, she had it. The world of sugar creations was literally at your fingertips and, because the woman insisted on spending a few minutes basking in the glory of your amazement, you actually were able to take your time surveying your options to make the best choices.
And yet, somehow, you came away with Airheads sour straws and Trident gum.
Seriously.
It was all I could do to hide my disappointment. Never mind the fact that you were each so excited to see the next stop in the apartment trick or treating scavenger hunt that you ran past me too quickly to register any of my facial expressions. I thanked the woman, somewhat begrudgingly, for both of you and smiled as she grinned widely. She closed the door and I walked after you to make sure neither of you would run into a wall after getting so hopped up on sugar.
I wish I could say you’re not in trouble. I wish I could say that I’m not disappointed or that I know I can trust you to do better next time. I wish I could be sure that you have learned your lesson and that you’ll never embarrass our family in this way again. Blood may be thicker than water but chocolate is heavier and sweeter than either one.
Now, as punishment, put the rest of your candy in my bag so I can bring it to work tomorrow. You’ve shown that you can’t be trusted with these valuable treats.
