The Great Halloween Betrayal

Newsletter 2024-10-28

I knew there were some more devastating milestones coming up. I just didn’t expect the next one quite so soon. We had my fourteen-year-old’s first high school dance, and then her first boyfriend. I thought that was as bad (for me) as it could get. Saturday, we experienced something far worse: the first time she refused to trick-or-treat. It was the greatest betrayal since Order 66. If only she had killed Jedi instead of leaving candy on the table.

In Betsy’s defense, this wasn’t technically trick-or-treating. It wasn’t even Halloween. It was a trunk-or-treating event five days before the official holiday. A local group goes all out to attract kids to the city and ply them with candy. I can’t think of a more worthy use of my tax dollars. The operation is a well-oiled machine. In fact, that’s my only criticism. It’s been too successful. As the event’s reputation has grown, the crowds have swelled. Thousands of kids flock to the area. They merge into one giant line that slowly snakes from candy station to candy station. I thought we had the system beat by showing up early. This year, everybody else tried the same trick, resulting in earlier human gridlock. Within the first ten minutes, the line was longer than anything you’d find at the most crowded day at Disney World. Not that I know firsthand. I’ve never been to the magic kingdom and never will. Paying a bunch of money to stand in line is my worst nightmare. My second worst nightmare is standing in line for free. Saturday, being abandoned by my teenager was icing on that trauma cake. She could have at least added sprinkles.

Betsy was still on board when we picked out our costume theme. The kids settled on characters from Inside Out. We were, in order of age from oldest to youngest, Fear, Ennui, Disgust, Anxiety, Anger, and Envy. Each of us picked the character that most closely related to our true selves, except for me. The kids made me be Fear because I’m tall and skinny. Then again, this newsletter is about how I fear change. Both literally and figuratively, the costume fit me better than I want to admit. As for Lola, she picked Ennui so she could wear sweatpants as a costume. As always, she was playing 4D chess. Real queens go out in comfy clothes they can also wear to bed.

Our costumes might have reflected our inner lives, but that didn’t mean they made sense to anybody else. Last year, the kids went as bright yellow Minions. They were instantly recognizable. This year, most people had no clue what we were. One lady asked me if I was supposed to be Waldo’s weird brother. That’s a fair guess. I blend into the background and am instantly forgettable. I’m the human equivalent of hotel art. My costume’s shortcomings were my own fault. Fear dresses in basic office attire. I didn’t even wear that much. I went with a hoodie printed to look like dress clothes. Most of the emotions are recognizable not by their outfits, but by their colors. I should have been purple. I didn’t even consider painting my skin. I would have gotten it on every surface in my house. Besides, I’m not sure that would have made me any more recognizable. People would have just thought I was Grimace dressed up for a job interview. Even McDonald’s wouldn’t hire me.

The girls’ looks were a little more distinct. Mae’s choice stood out the most. Her shirt and pants matched Anxiety’s outfit perfectly, and her weird glasses sealed the deal. The pants didn’t actually come with the costume. The ensemble's online description clearly stated that fact, even though we failed to notice until after the order arrived. We mostly looked at the picture, which showed the model wearing pants. That was to be expected. Amazon isn’t an x-rated site—yet. Luckily, Lola had matching pants in her closet, which she loaned to our second-oldest daughter. We now have two children big enough to share her clothes. No wonder Lola dresses like Anxiety every day.

Lucy didn’t have to worry about separate tops and bottoms. Her body suit was printed with a fake shirt and pants. We gave her a headband that sort of looked like fire, but she opted not to wear it. It’s hard to be the personification of anger when you have poofy red feathers on your head. As for Waffle, her costume elicited the emotion it was supposed to. As soon as it arrived, she declared that she hated it and wanted to be something else. I forced her to wear it anyway because I’d already paid for it. If at least one child doesn’t have a meltdown because you got them exactly what they wanted, is it even Halloween—or literally any other day of the year?

Of everyone’s costumes, Betsy’s suited her the most. She was Disgust, the quintessential teenage emotion. She was cringe incarnate. She gets plenty of chances to practice that emotion around her mother and me. We are a perpetual source of embarrassment. Instead of correcting our behavior, we found a way to weaponize it. At Betsy’s conference cross country meet two weeks ago, we yelled a chorus of “skibidies” and “yeets” every time she went by. She ran at a record pace to get away from us. Obviously all of her success is due to her mother and me and not her own hard work. The key to good leadership is claiming credit for everybody else’s triumphs and none of their failures. That’s also how politics works.

Despite the betrayal yet to come, Betsy put on her costume for our traditional group photo shoot before trunk-or-treat. It’s the only time we all get dressed up. On Halloween night, I mostly stay in the van as I drive the kids from house to house. It’s the best way to maximally exploit the generosity of our neighbors. Since I’m only visible through the window, I tend to just wear the top of my costume, and sometimes not even that much if it’s too warm. I live a hard life, sitting in my climate controlled van as the kids rush in and out of the vehicle battling the elements. Lola doesn’t get out of the van, either, so she often doesn’t dress up at all. The trunk-or-treat event tends to be the only time we’re all in our costumes together. Betsy understood and went along with it for the picture. Then we left home. Almost as soon as we got in the endless line, Betsy decided she was done. We still had two hours to go.

Amidst the crowd, Betsy became self-conscious. She said she was too old to be out there with the other kids. She refused to hold her trick-or-treating bag. The average age of the crowd did skew young, but Betsy doesn’t exactly look old. It’s hard to tell her to grade, especially in dim light or from a distance. That’s the advantage of never getting that tall. I suspect most women could get away with trick-or-treating well into their twenties. The shorter you are, the longer you can pull off the ruse. If Lola wore a mask, she could trick-or-treat into her eighties. When Betsy looked around, she saw mostly little kids. More importantly, she didn’t see her friends. There were a few here or there, but they were working booths or escorting younger siblings. None of them were in line with bright orange sacks for candy. Betsy felt out of place. She stayed in line but she wouldn’t hold the bag. She also wouldn’t collect candy. The good times seemed to be over for good.

Then, slowly, she came around. Every few booths, there was a piece of candy she simply couldn’t resist. Putting it in a bag to take home like a toddler was out of the question. She wasn’t, however, beyond eating it on the spot. She repeated this trick at the next booth and the one after that. No one could judge her as long as she destroyed the evidence as she went. Unlike her sisters, who squirreled away their candy for a future day, she enjoyed her treats in the moment. Ironically, to behave more like an adult, she was acting more childlike than the actual children. She internalized a very wrong but very prevalent opinion shared by most of the olds: Appearance’s matter more than reality. She’s way too young to be as shallow as me. It should take her two more decades to get there.

Betsy didn’t realize that to actual adults, she still appeared to be a child. That included the adults who knew her personally. She saw the parents of several classmates working the booths, including her boyfriend’s mom. Her boyfriend was at home, far too cool to be out trunk-or-treating. That’s a major red flag, if you ask me. Then again, so is dating my daughter. The boyfriend’s age-based absence undoubtedly contributed to Betsy’s self consciousness. Her boyfriend’s mom didn’t even blink before handing Betsy a sizable portion of candy. That’s a quality I like to see in any potential future in-law. Instead of judging Betsy, many of the adults asked how her race went earlier in the day. She had regionals, her final race of the season. She ran her second best time ever, despite Lola and I not yelling a single “skibidi” during the race. Who knows how well she might have done if we had appropriately embarrassed her? If we can achieve the right level of mortification, I’m convinced she could be the national champion.

Really, I can’t complain about Betsy’s trunk-or-treating compromise, even if I’ve done nothing but complain so far. Ultimately, she took the candy. She just didn’t take it home. She ate what she liked and gave her sisters what she didn’t. It was trickle-down candy economics. More crucially, Betsy said she was still all-in for Halloween night. She wants to break our record of sixty pounds of candy that we set last year. That’s a night when family will definitely come before her too-cool boyfriend. The fact that he will be staying home handing out candy could actually be a plus. I told Betsy we should hit up his house first and make him give us everything he has. I’m not above working this relationship to our advantage. On Halloween night, there won’t be a big crowd of people to judge us. We’ll be out on our own going from house to house. Betsy has decided that’s a level of embarrassment she can deal with. That’s all I ask. The most essential quality in any family is grudging toleration. If she can put up with me even a little bit, we just might make it.

Even so, the close call Saturday night was a harbinger of an unwelcome day yet to come. Betsy was a little bashful about taking candy this time. Soon, she will be put off enough to sit out of Halloween all together. That will be a dark time for us all. If I have anything to say about it, she’ll keep trick-or-treating with me until she has kids of her own. I’ll gladly take my grandkids out while she stays home. I’m not above going door-to-door with an infant. Yes, this two-month-old definitely needs a full-size Snicker bar. They can enjoy it vicariously by watching me eat it. That’s what family is for.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James