Not for the faint of heart, I give to you this cautionary tale of one little boy’s brush with fevered regret, that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt, that one tiny voice of reason can indeed save the day.

But first, we have to go back, way back…to the story before the story of that fateful day…

I love Halloween.

And back in the day, when I was a little girl, Halloween was always a big deal at our house. Trick-or-treating was something that was looked forward to with great anticipation. 

Every year, my sister and I would go to great lengths to come up with inventive and elaborately bewitching costumes. We would painstakingly plot out our route through the neighborhood to get maximum candy canvassing, and stake out the good stuff for a second hit.

One year, I even attempted to lock my sister in the bathroom, and carried an extra pillow case with me and told a sad story of her suddenly falling ill, and being the nice sister that I was I was, I was collecting candy for her as well. 

Of course, it was a total fabrication, and after she escaped, I was questioned by a neighbor who had inquired as to why then, had my poor sick sister already knocked on her door? My poorly executed farce have been exposed. I did briefly entertain the idea of abandoning my life of criminal mischeif, but then I decided that the next year I would just go to a different neighborhood, where nobody knew me.

Muahahah! Diabolical, I know, but I take my candy very seriously.

Growing up in Arizona, it always seemed like right around Halloween was when it would finally start to get chilly and I would always worry that my mother would force me wear a coat over my costume.

This was not acceptable.

I mean, who wants to see Wonder Woman wearing a zip up windbreaker?

You can not effectively fight crime in seasonably appropriate outerwear.

How ridiculous would it be if I had to peel off a hat and a scarf before I could jump into my invisible jet and race off to save the world?

Nobody in their right mind would take Wonder Woman seriously if she was wearing a winter coat over her kick ass wonder woman outfit, or if her lasso of truth was all tangled up in her poncho.

But sadly, most of the time my pleas of protest would fall upon deaf ears, and I would end up angrily stomping down the street, stewing in my own juices, while toting my empty grocery bag, and grimacing with distaste as my winter wardrobe eclipsed my Wonder Woman awesomeness.

It was then, that I swore, that when I became a mother, I would never humiliate my children in such a way as to force my overly protective motherly whims upon them. And if my son wanted to be Superman, then he would be Superman in a cape… and not Superman in a parka.

I was going to be the one to finally break the cycle of crimes against Halloween.

Then, many years later, we had taken a trip to Disneyland with my then three-year-old son. His favorite ride was the Pirates of the Caribbean, and for Halloween he wanted to be a pirate. I think we must have ridden that ride over a half a dozen times before I had finally had enough. And after much coaxing (which included dragging him kicking and screaming from the ride) we brought him to “It’s a Small World” where I told him that he needed to behave if he wanted to go see the Pirates one more time before we left.

Incidentally, his tantrum continued while waiting for our turn to get on the boat, and after he tried several times to escape me, I regrettably informed him, that when naughty little children wander off and misbehave, they end up trapped inside the ride, with their feet glued to the floor, and are forced to sing “It’s a Small World”…forever.

But that, however, did not go over well. Continue reading Bad Candy →