My kids came back from trick-or-treating last night with a satchel full of candy rivaling the bounty in Santa’s sled on Christmas Eve. As a parent on the day after Halloween, I understand my mission: I must sacrifice the well-being of my own tooth enamel for the greater good.
To Sneak, or Not to Sneak: That Is the Question
I don’t sneak any of my kids’ candy after Halloween. I used to, but then I learned honesty is the best policy.
Also: my kids somehow knew, despite hundreds of pieces of candy available, how many Mr. Goodbars had gone missing.
Answer: six per bag.
It’s a good thing they don’t sell 5th Avenue minis because I would have cleared them out. Why are 5th Avenue candy bars, the single greatest candy bar of all-time, so hard to come by these days?
Do people genuinely believe the Butterfinger is the superior candy bar over the 5th Avenue? Have we collectively lost our minds?
Do others not remember the sugary goodness of the 5th Avenue’s crunchy peanut butter and rich chocolate coating?
Instead of sneaking, I have my children consider the joy they will receive by voluntarily giving me some of their candy.
The old life lesson: it’s better to give than receive.
Is there an underlying motivation on my part?
Of course. I like candy, too, but I’m too old to walk around the neighborhood saying, “Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat.”
Is this wrong? Would my kids’ dentist be opposed? The dentist’s office, coincidentally, offers a “candy buyback,” after all. I receive the email every year:
“Trade in your Halloween candy,” the email says, “and earn tokens for cool bracelets, bouncy balls, and action figurines.”
I rest my case.
Though I must ask: where does all the kids’ candy go? In the mouths of dentists, dental assistants, hygienists, and the secretary of course. I’m no fool to their psychological ploy.
Warheads, Where Have You Been All My Life?
I quit drinking over three years ago, and while there are plenty of solid non-alcoholic (NA) beverages available nowadays, if someone can create an NA brew rivaling Victory Ale’s Sour Monkey, I’d buy the whole lot.
Sour ales were my thing. I don’t miss drinking alcohol. I gave it up for a variety of reasons, which is deserving of its own essay. But I do miss how Sour Monkey would turn my mouth inside out and light up my tastebuds.
So, when my kids offered me one of their Warheads earlier while we were watching re-runs of Everybody Hates Chris, I thought: Oh, wow! Warheads, where have you been all my life?
Warheads existed when I was younger, but I’m not sure I ever ate one until today.
Crybaby sours? Delightful.
Warheads? Even better.
If you’re reading this while eating a Twix that’s not your own, don’t feel guilty. As parents, we must do what’s in the best interest of our children.
Sacrifices must be made. It comes with the territory. Our children will understand one day. It may be twenty years from now when they have kids of their own, but, oh, they will understand.
A parent’s job never ends.
And the day after Halloween is our most sacred day.
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