My Teens Have Outgrown Trick-or-Treating, But I'm Not Ready to Let Go

The realization hit me harder than expected: my teenage sons, aged 14 and 15, have outgrown their love for trick-or-treating, a ritual I've held dear over the years. This Halloween marks my first in 15 years sitting on the porch and distributing candy, a change I was unprepared for.

The adage that 'the days feel long but the years are short' captures my emotions as I reminisce about previous Halloweens. Before motherhood, I spent Halloween nights alone, giving out candy while my husband served in the Navy. I would praise the neighborhood kids' adorable costumes, unknowingly speaking from a place of innocence, unaware of the challenges of toddler costumes and overtired preschoolers.

Parenthood changed that. With two kids, Halloween became a family event, though it felt more demanding than anticipated. My first son, at merely 10 months, barely tolerated his Tigger outfit that first October. By his second Halloween, he was thrilled in a lion costume, while his newborn sibling assumed the role of a peapod. Despite their quick bedtime, they were irresistibly charming. My husband and I would help ourselves to what we called a 'candy tax,' since they were too young to indulge.

As they started school, Halloween turned into an extravaganza for them, with dreams of candy stashes too big to carry. Yet, despite endless energy, their small legs couldn't keep pace. My husband often had to carry them, as I juggled discarded costume pieces and their heavy candy collections.

The prime trick-or-treating era for me was when my children were independent enough to choose their own costumes and make it through hours of collecting sweets without a meltdown. Their choices, often costumes from games they were too young to play, made the nights lively. Sometimes, I was the one asking for a ride home.

The best years were when costumes matched the weather perfectly — not too thick in unexpected warmth or too thin in the cold. The era of cute animal themes gave way to more mature choices like Star Wars characters as they discovered our candy tax scheme, claiming it was extremely unfair.

The pandemic cost us a Halloween. By 2021, my oldest, near 12, lost interest, though his younger brother, then 10, embraced his resemblance to Harry Potter with enthusiasm. Even as formal costume interests waned, he concocted homemade outfits from household finds: one year a baking contest competitor, another a café barista. Eventually, he too declared it was his last year canvassing for candy.

This year, I'll be stationed on the porch, doling out treats while reminiscing about trailing behind my own children through the neighborhood. I'll be indulging in miniature candy bars as I reflect on one of childhood's swiftly concluding traditions, akin to waking early on Christmas mornings or scattering Easter eggs.

When these moments pass — when costumes are retired and Christmas morning finds them sleeping in — only memories and photographs remain. Even though my boys might be ready to move on, I find myself still cherishing these traditions.

Yet, there's a chance for some nostalgia this year. I might just manage to coax them into joining me on the porch by offering a few Reese’s, ushering them into conversations about their favorite past Halloweens. The candy tax might have been unfair, but this year, I'll gladly barter candy for time spent together.