HALLOWEEN is on Tuesday and a nation is unified by its love of candy (Shutterstock).
Some might call it socialism-by-social pressure. Some might call it the entering edge of devil-worship. Others see it as an example of helicopter-parenting run wild.
I like to think of it as just fun. And maybe a tummy-ache in the morning.
Halloween started as All-Hallow’s Eve, the last chance at mischief before the Saints went marching in. Now it’s a multi-billion dollar event seemingly sponsored by Jenny Craig.
No matter how sophisticated we become, it’s a rare grown-up that doesn’t remember the “inflammable” getup of their youth. I was Zorro and then Superman. Marilyn was a black cat and later a gypsy. We gathered in groups of school pals and went door-to-door while the Old Folks stayed home watching “Leave It to Beaver” or “Gunsmoke.”
When we got home, they warned us A) not to eat too much and B) remember, this is probably your last year, because you are Getting Too Old For This.
What a joke. We never get too old for free candy. Nearly every office front desk has a plate of mints or – if times are rough – hard candy well past the “best by” date. Our old newspaper office on Main Street had a candy dish, a water cooler and would have had coffee maker if I could figure out how to make it work.
I’m convinced that our business grew because of the quality and availability of our sweets. We – at least I – urged adults there without kids to “take a few home. We have plenty.” I do not believe any of those little Snickers or Butterfingers ever made it back home alive, i.e., unconsumed.
Folks would ball up the foil wrappers and hide them in an old coat pocket like a guilt-ridden gigolo disposing of the receipt from the “She’s Out of Town Motel.”
Society’s always telling us what not to do. But we came from revolutionaries in 1776. If defying convention by main-lining Skittles or dressing up like Pennywise isn’t American, I don’t know what is.