FIRST PERSON | Stealing your kids’ Halloween candy is a time-honoured tradition I’m happy to embrace | CBC News
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This First Person article is written by Craig Silliphant, a dad who lives in Saskatoon. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.
On Halloween, shouts of, “Trick or treat!” echo through my neighbourhood as costumed kids roam the streets looking for candy handouts. But when my kids put away their plastic pumpkins and go to bed, I say, “Trick AND treat.”
I’m not ashamed to admit it — I steal my kids’ Halloween candy.
I’d love to spin some elaborate story of candy espionage, where I wear a balaclava and creep around like a suave cat burglar, evading booby traps and lasers to swipe sweets from under their little noses. But I don’t have to do any of that, because I’m an adult and they’re kids. I just wait until they go to bed.
My kids live in a dictatorship, not a democracy. This dictator rules with an iron fist and a sweet tooth. I have the political power to just shout, “Dad Tax!” and take what I want, like a greedy medieval king or the government.
There’s still an art to the heist. I don’t want the kids to be aware of my thievery or it ends up in complaints and tears. As French poet Charles Baudelaire supposedly said (or if you’re a film buff, as Keyser Söze said in The Usual Suspects), “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”
Fooling children causes much less drama, so here are some tips:
First, you can’t go straight for that mega-sized Oh Henry. They know it’s still there. They’ve been salivating over it since the moment it landed in their pumpkin. On the other hand, they have 45 mini-Kit Kats. They’ll never notice those going missing.
Secondly, the age of your kids comes into play as well. The younger they are, the easier the pickings. My 10-year-old is a candy inventory wizard, but my five-year-old lacks that sense of memory (and object permanence).
If anyone under age five does notice candy missing, look worried and tell them the candy gremlins must have done it. Seriously, even smart kids are super gullible. They’ll believe anything a parent tells them. You can really abuse that.
But wait — if I teach my kids that stealing is bad, aren’t I a big fat hypocrite?
Well, yeah. Duh. In fact, I’m a hypocrite about more things than just Halloween candy. It’s amazing what mental gymnastics a degenerate bonbon raider can perform.
For example, I tell myself that my kids collect too much candy anyway. My smallest brings home half her weight in those gross Rockets candies. Seriously, if you’re still giving these out, get with the times.
That’s a lot of sugar kids don’t need, especially when some medical experts say that sugar is the new tobacco. We’d lose our minds if people handed out packs of Halloween cigarettes, but we don’t blink at feeding them enough sugar to take down a hippopotamus.
I’m not anti-candy. I’m a moderation enthusiast. Someone has to moderate how much goes into their candy holes. Four out of five dentists would likely agree with me (and that suspicious fifth dentist is in the pocket of Big Candy).
I thought I was alone in these candy capers — a hypocritical parent and a bad person. However, I just read about a recent survey in which 86 per cent of people said they steal from their kids’ Halloween haul and eat up to a third of it! The other 14 per cent is too hoity-toity to steal candy from a baby. They’re the real deviants.
To be fair, that survey was commissioned by a toothpaste company, so it may not be the strongest of science, but I’m convinced!
Thinking about how I (and apparently, most other parents) thrive on the cheap thrill of a stolen Coffee Crisp at 10 p.m. led me to an earthshaking epiphany. This could only mean that my parents were secretly eating my candy when I was a kid!
The candy thieving was coming from inside the house! Those … those … hypocrites!
After I calmed down, I realized that the Halloween circle of life was complete. My parents stole candy from me, I steal candy from my children, and they will one day steal from their own offspring.
It’s not about convincing your kids you didn’t eat their candy, but convincing yourself you’re doing it for their own good.
So go ahead my fellow candy conspirators and embrace the sweet hypocrisy. Indulge in the spellbinding glory of Halloween. Eat the Snickers.
May your loot be plentiful, your alibis bulletproof and the dental bills be ever in your favour.
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