I was raised by a certain group of devout Christians who believe Halloween is a Pagan holiday. It does have its basis in Pagan traditions, but to any child of this century, Halloween is all about costumes and candy. For some, it’s just about the candy and the costume is the means. I wasn’t allowed to go trick-or-treating until after the divorce in sixth grade. That means I went a total of two times, once in the sixth grade and once in seventh grade.
I kept that Halloween candy until well into December. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks before Christmas that I finished off the Smarties at the bottom of the orange plastic pumpkin. I still feel a happy glow at the thought of so much candy that I can survive until Christmas. My mother never denied me candy, but I had already gained the hoarding and bingeing habits from the summers with my grandma. I remember feeling so glad that I had enough; enough to last more than a month.
As an adult, I can eat candy whenever I want. Halloween candy has no allure for me beyond the small serving sizes. For once in my life, I finally feel like I have enough all the time. I have enough candy to last me for the rest of my life.