I personally think the now defunct Wunderlee Candy Company (of Philadelphia) needs to reimburse me for approximately 12 tooth cavities that have been filled and re-filled over the years from excessive consumption of their candy corn. They’re the ones who started the whole mess. What was THAT ‘Aha’ moment like? I mean, it was the 1880’s….people weren’t exactly forward-thinkers. The big kahuna boss man, George Renninger, came up with the brilliant idea. Here’s my theory. I think George had diverticulitis. Anyone who knows anything about something knows that corn is the arch enemy of the diverticula. So he figured he’d change a couple of ingredients and develop a corn more suited to the afflicted colon. Of course, he’s probably responsible for 1/3 of our nation’s diabetic population, but who cares! You can’t stay mad at the Candy Man!
I’ve been having a love-affair with candy since conception. My Mother, however, found sugar to be a carnal sin and forbade it as such. You know how your parents have those “I was so poor….” stories? Well, I have one too. Only I’m not poor. I’m deprived. “I was so deprived that instead of ice-cream with Hershey’s syrup, I had to eat ice-milk with wheat germ.” Oh, you think I’m playing? Surely I do not jest. But there’s one particularly cruel moment that stands out.
I don’t remember the year….I may have been 9 or 10 years old. We lived on a road that ended in a cul de sac. There was one rule that had been agreed upon by all the parents: DO NOT GO PAST THE STOP-SIGN! As far as we knew, life didn’t exist past the stop sign. But I knew there was manna from heaven over there. I’d stand, one hand on the stop sign pole, one toe just past the line of demarcation, luxuriating in my rebellion. So every Halloween, we’d be emphatically reminded to stay within the boundaries of the Deprived Kid Compound. To deliberately break this rule would result in a punishment so heinous, it didn’t need details. We knew, though. They didn’t have to spell it out. We knew disobedience would result in death.
But that year, I felt brave. Strong, even! I’d won the spelling bee a month earlier and things were looking promising in the science department. I figured I deserved a higher level of freedom. While all those involved would beg to differ, my crime was not premeditated. I can’t remember my costume…but I do remember that I carried a pillow-case for a candy sack. So I must have subconsciously known what was about to commence. I followed the herd of kids around to each other’s house, making snide remarks about those who only passed out Sweet Tarts.
“Why don’t you just give us a wad of paper towels? Or smack us in the face! Sweet Tarts are monetary proof that you could care less about children.”
So we’d all made the loop and ended up in front of my house, which happened to be snuggled up to the church that my Dad pastored, commonly referred to as “The Parsonage”. We’d all sit on the church steps, eye-balling each other’s candy, wishing there was more…KNOWING there was more on the other side of The Sign. I’d like to think I was viewed as heroic that year. I stood, tossing my sack over my shoulder like Santa’s delinquent sister. I made my way towards The Sign, knowing in the deepest part of my rear-end that once I was past….there was no going back. As I crossed the threshold into the Land of Untapped Candy, I heard my angelic brother call out:
“You’re gonna get in TROUBLE!!! She is so much in trouble bad she doesn’t even know it.”
I don’t remember much after that. I do remember it was dusky when I embarked and pitch black when I returned. And in that amount of time, I had canvased the entire town of Groveport. My pillowcase was engorged. My feet were blistered. I crammed candy down my gullet like a Nathan’s Hot Dog contender, knowing that when I returned home, there’d be no fatted calf awaiting me…only confiscation and death.
Obviously, the threat of death was nothing but a smoke-screen to hide their true cruel intent. I was tongue lashed black and blue while my brother stood by with a strange mix of horror, fascination and glee written all over his cherubic face. Then, like a henchman letting go of the rope that held up the guillotine blade, my Mother snatched my sack, still foaming at the mouth.
“You’ll never see this sack again! You hear me? NEVER AGAIN!”
I searched for that sack and its contents for the next 13 years. I never went trick-or-treating again. What was the point? I’d seen all there was to see. Enough to know that when I grew up…I was going to let my kids eat as much candy as they wanted…WITHOUT the mind-games.
Last weekend, my daughter pointed and asked, “Mommy, what is THAT?”
“Produce, sweetie. Oranges, apples, bananas….it’s produce. Give me that Ring Pop. Show’s over, baby.”
So in honor of my sad and somewhat strong parental stance on the evils of sugar, here’s a tribute to Candy. My one true love.
Authors bio is coming up shortly. 
