Every October, my family ponders a question that has been with the human race since our ancestors first applied color to cave walls: “What on earth are we going to do with all this Halloween candy?”
Back then, the little ones would don an aurochs horn and visit all the neighboring caves. Of course, for them a Bit-o-Honey was literally a bit o’honey. In all likelihood, these cave dwellers stored their candy for the harsh winter, but truth be told archeological records are spotty. Some skeptics even claim they may not have celebrated Halloween at all.
Sorting of the treats
Today, what is ceremoniously piled on the floor after an evening of trick-or-treating represents not just a few treats for the kids, but also potential dental bills and hyperactive sugar highs, both equally painful to deal with.
The sheer amount of candy is the problem. No child should should consume this much candy over the course of a week, month, or perhaps even a lifetime. It’s like a day’s worth of production from Willy Wonka’s showed up at my door. I’m not talking about a regular, sing-songy, über-productive day at the Choco-Factory, I’m talking Oompa-Loompas-getting-into-the-catnip levels of productivity. I’m talking a lot of candy.
The kids are certainly allowed to have their share, but at some point the madness must end. That is where we, as mature adults, must step in. Every year, I open the cabinet and peer in at the cacophony of confections:
“I can’t let my kids eat all this candy. It’s sooo bad on sooo many levels. Time for Dad to take one for the team.” Or several.
This is as bad a solution as the kids eating it all, and it’s getting out of hand, I find myself searching out the perfect Michigan porter to compliment all the chocolate.
Justification runs rampant, “I can’t let my child eat a Mr. Goodbar and then play with her friends, she could accidentally breathe on one of them.” If there is one thing public schools have taught us, it is that peanuts are lethal.
This year, I have a better plan — give it away. We’ll go through the stash, pick out our favorites, and then box the rest up.
It’s better for the children’s teeth, family harmony, and on a personal level, my waistline. Besides, I prefer IPAs to porters.
Jeremy Rosenberg gave up the corporate rat race years ago to become a
freelance writer and graduate student, as well as a stay-at-home
dad to his two children, Jack, 10, and Eva, 5. He also enjoys playing the guitar,
letting his cats fall asleep on his lap, and trying to be a decent human being.
Contact him c/o firstname.lastname@example.org