Hear ye, hear ye! I’m going to give you a big spoiler alert. If you are a joy stealer at Halloween, this chocolate induced dissertation might get you uptight. You’ve been warned.
Trick-or-treat!! You don’t like it? That’s too bad. Let me yell it again. TRICK-OR-TREAT!!
I currently sit in my chair basking in all the aftermath of near lethal doses of the finest creations of Hershey and Mars Incorporated. The sugar rush from Skittles packs rivals that of adrenaline filled bungee jumps. There ain’t nothing like the gut bomb combination of grape Nerds candy mixed with Kit Kats and Pop Rocks. Look out below!!
But mainly I’m consuming illegal amounts of scrump-deli-icious-ness… yes, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory reference… Reese’s cups and pumpkins. It may possibly be considered the eighth wonder of world.
“Hi, my name is Tommy and I’m a Reese’s addict.”
This is a true statement. However, if there was a Reese’s addiction recovery group, I would not be a member. You have to want recovery to be successful and frankly I don’t want to get over it. I enjoy imbibing in the peanut buttery pleasure. Let’s get real here. I get a snoot full of Reese’s EVERY single Halloween night. If loving a Reese cup is wrong, I don’t wanna be right!
And speaking of wrong, I am hearing it loud and clear from some people how celebrating Halloween is from the pit of hell. Some say Halloween is a demonic celebration. Halloween is the devil’s night I’ve been told. One guy I know staunchly stated, “You can’t serve two masters. You either serve Jesus or serve Satan. If you celebrate Halloween, you are condemned.”
OK, you can call me a glutton for this chocolate ring around my mouth, but condemned? I didn’t know I was serving another master by dressing up as Darth Vader on Halloween in 1981. I guess my homemade light saber was an occult symbol of doom. I sure wouldn’t want to live in condemnation because I bobbed for apples at the Presbyterian Church Fall Festival in my Superman costume in 1978. I thought there was only One who is worthy to condemn a soul, and I sure wouldn’t want to disappoint Him for toting a plastic pumpkin around the Central Road – Fluker Street – Johns Road – Ware Street area of Thomson, Georgia during the 1970s. My brother went as Pac-Man one year, but he was likely an unconscious agent of Beelzebub’s legion of dark minions. I guess I’ll just have to admit I’m a sinner because I walked through Blood Mansion in 1984 and got the Hershey scared out of me by a chainsaw wielding masked man hidden behind “the final door.” I even tried to muster up the courage to hold my girlfriend’s hand on the Haunted Hayride in 1985. Yes, I was successful only to have the youth leaders say, “All hands visible!”
But those were much simpler times. Those were fun times. There wasn’t as much joy stealing then. And there wasn’t even a hint of evil unless you consider the time the older boys TP’d the middle school principal’s yard because he enacted a no gum chewing policy at school.
Come to think of it, I never once remember dressing up in an attempt to worship the devil. All I remember thinking about is candy. And more candy. AND FUN. My parents never once said, “Hey, let’s hurry and get you dressed as Batman so we can perform a seance and recall the evil dead to spread pestilence, famine, and fear over the globe!” No, it was just a clean old fashioned good time of fun. A time of building precious memories with good friends and loving family. A time where I visited my Granny’s house and she always had a special bag of candy for me, my brother, and my cousin, Grae. She made candy apples for us one year much to the dismay of our mothers. We slopped and slurped on those things so loudly that we probably had Mama and Aunt Rita dreaming of a Benadryl cocktail for us all.
I think of those simple times with a big smile. A chuckle. Maybe even a tear or two. All the memories of many Halloweens passed. My Granny is in heaven as are some of my neighborhood trick-or-treat buddies, but I have the memories of these fun and innocent times in life. It was a great time to grow up. We had fun and I’m sorry, y’all, but I can’t bring myself to feel guilt or remorse or condemnation because of these memories and the smile on my face.
I know, I know. Now is the time where some of you will start telling me how Halloween was originally an ancient Celtic pagan celebration where they would dress up to fight off evil spirits. Yes, I can read Google, too. Others might argue that early American settlers with Scottish and Irish backgrounds would dress up on “All Hallows Eve” to recite poems or tell a joke and the winner would get a treat, which in those days was likely a piece of fruit. In actuality, Halloween was a hybrid formation from many of these things in an attempt to HAVE FUN and separate the day from any perceived negative intent.
“No! Brother Johnson, you can’t allow yourself to be deceived! We are in this world but we are not of it! Halloween is evil!”
I realize there are well meaning people with good intentions on both sides of this issue. I love you whether you love Halloween or not, but really, I hear the shouts of Romans 14 on this one.
The combination of chocolate and peanut butter is genius, but this Halloween debate? Much ado about nothing. The day is as fun and innocent or as evil and horrid as you make it. As with everything in this life, it’s about the heart and intention. I’m not planning on setting up tent revival to baptize Jason Vorhees or get Freddy Krueger to sing in the church choir, and I surely can’t feel guilty over innocent fun. I’ll keep on eating my Reese cups and maybe y’all can condemn me for gluttony instead.
