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Recently in Salon Mothers Who Think

Eager saints and sweet-toothed sinners
The blessed Halloween of my youth
By Kate Convissor
[10/29/99]

Please, God, don't let him be a penis grabber
Then again, if he is a penis grabber, keep him away from mine.
By Jonathan Kronstadt
[10/28/99]

Wild Thing
Books for bad children
Bring on the ghosts, the ghouls and the unhappy endings.
By Polly Shulman
[10/27/99]

High noon for nurturers
Penelope Leach faces off with the Ezzos in a nasty turf war. Someone needs a spanking.
By Shelley Emling
[10/26/99]

Hitting below the belt
Easy to get, hellish to deal with, restraining orders have become the ultimate weapon in domestic disputes.
By Cathy Young
[10/25/99]

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That's the problem, Best says. There is an initial story and it receives front page coverage. But the follow-up is rarely reported. The vast majority of these cases -- more than 90 percent, says Best -- are hoaxes and exaggerations. Most of the time, they turn out to be a kid trying to freak out another kid, or a child who knows that a BB in a gum wrapper will bring instant attention from parents, the police and the media.

In one well-publicized case of "candy tampering," the "victim" actually died of a complicated heart condition. In Texas, an 8-year-old boy died after eating cyanide-laced Pixie Sticks supposedly gathered while trick or treating. In this tragic case, there was indeed a genuine boogeyman, the boy's father, who had taken out an insurance policy and figured that Halloween random poisonings were so commonplace that the police would never suspect him.

"The thing about these Halloween stories is that they don't make sense," says Best. "If there is anything we know about crime is that it does make sense. Why would a drug dealer decide to hook preschoolers on this particular night? Why would a person be a model citizen for 364 days a year and on this one night, start poisoning children at random? Why would someone do that?"

It turns out that only 5 percent of nonfamily child abductions take place in October -- fewer than in any other month. Statistically, my kids are much more likely to be struck by lightning than to be struck down by a tainted m&m. And the PTA scuttlebutt has got it all wrong. This period of history isn't the most dangerous time in human history to be a kid. For most children in this country, it is the safest.

So where do these horror stories come from? And why am I so quick, almost eager, to believe them?

Maybe because it's Halloween. Maybe because I can't go trick or treating and I can't leap out from behind bushes and scare the hell out of my friends as we chase candy from house to house. Maybe this is the way grown-ups celebrate, in a grown-up sort of way. We exploit the opportunity to be scared to death while knowing that everything is going to be OK. (Even Joel Best, statistics at his fingertips, admits that his own wife inspected their family's candy haul before proclaiming it safe for human consumption.)

When you think about it, the stories are not too different from campfire bone-chillers and the Grimms at their bloody best. The characters, the tone, the morals -- all writ large and hot-wired to our greatest fears as parents and protectors -- add up to classic lore. An unknown adult corrupts an innocent youth. A naive child receives a poisoned apple.

As a parent, I want desperately to protect my children as they make their way into adulthood. But most days, I know I can't really do all that much. Most days, I can only take a deep breath and let go little by little, trusting, hoping and praying that the world will treat my children gently.

But on Halloween day, I have society's wholehearted permission to indulge my every fear, to put all my back muscles into maintaining the wall between the world and my children. Suddenly all the vague threats recede and there is only the Halloween maniac, the stomachache, the Hershey Bar full of shrapnel to bravely repel from advancing. And I can. This is the beauty of Halloween, as Joel Best will attest. We always triumph. We always survive.

But is there a price for this annual, faux face-off with our fears? What am I teaching my children? To be paranoid and suspicious?

Maybe not. Not if I don't go too far. Spooked as I may be, I still let my kids trick or treat near home. When we cart the kids to the mall for store-to-store trick or treating (as many parents now do), the message is loud and clear: The only safe place for a kid is an adult-sanctified, commercialized place where there is a security guard at every exit.

But a few words of warning couldn't hurt. It's all part of the ritual. We wring our hands, bark a few orders, confiscate a couple of Pixie Sticks. They dress up like hippies and tarts, skulk around in the dark and gorge on candy corn. And Halloween remains, with annual tweaks to costumes and horror stories, is as it should be, for all of us -- a rush of scary thrills, fierce love and chocolate highs.
salon.com | Oct. 29, 1999

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