When It’s Okay to Eat Your Kid’s HalloweenCandy
(Spoiler: It’s not about ethics. It’s about opportunity.)
The Setup
It’s Halloween night. The house smells like a mix of sugar, exhaustion, and crushed costume
dreams.
Your kid’s candy haul sits on the counter — a neon mountain of joy.
You look at it the way a raccoon looks at a shiny trash can.
You tell yourself, “I’ll wait. I’m a grown man. I have willpower.”
You don’t. But you want to. And that’s what matters… right?
Scene One: The Moral Debate
You pace the kitchen like a man in a courtroom drama directed by Quentin Tarantino.
Your Inner Prosecutor: “It’s their candy. They worked hard for it.”
Your Defense Attorney: “They’re six. They think calories are imaginary.”
The Judge (also you): “Objection overruled. Also, that Reese’s is the same one you passed up in
the office yesterday.”
You even start setting ethical parameters like a UN diplomat in a sugar crisis:
“I’ll only eat the ones that are broken.”
“I’m checking for razor blades.”
“I’m testing for freshness. No kid of mine eats stale candy.”
“I’ll replace it later with something better. (Like raisins. Ha.)”
You are now in a psychological thriller, and the villain is small, wrapped, goodness.
Scene Two: The Tactical Briefing
The lights go out. The kids are asleep.
You’re basically in a heist movie now — part Ocean’s Eleven, part Dad’s Conscience: The
Reckoning.
You move quietly through the dark, scanning for witnesses.
The cat sees you. The cat knows. The cat will not speak.
You target the candy that won’t be missed.
Not the Skittles (too obvious).
Not the lollipop (too noisy).
But the fun-size Snickers — ah, yes — the Switzerland of candy. Neutral. Perfectly defensible.
You unwrap it slowly, reverently, like it’s a classified document.
Scene Three: The Enlightenment
You take a bite.
Time slows.
The Mission Impossible soundtrack swells in your mind.
The candy is sweeter because it’s forbidden.
You hear every dad before you whisper from the shadows:
“We’ve all been here, brother.”
Your soul flickers, but the sugar hits first.
You understand now — the real truth of fatherhood:
The right time to eat your kid’s Halloween candy… is the first time they’re not looking.
Scene Four: Acceptance
Morning comes. Your kid counts their candy.
They squint. Something’s off.
You shrug, look concerned, and whisper, “Maybe it fell behind the couch.”
You’re lying, but it’s for the greater good — your glucose stability and their lifelong lesson in
trust.
And next year?
You’ll do it again.
Because fatherhood is a cycle — of love, patience, and opportunistic snacking.
Dad Lesson
Morality is subjective. Chocolate is eternal.
(Now go burn the wrapper evidence before they wake up.)