As any parents striving to raise decent human beings typically do, my husband and I have tried our best to instill the importance of good manners and basic etiquette in our two children. As soon as they began to string together multi-word phrases, we expected them to be able to say a simple “please” and “thank you.”
And because we know that it’s sometimes easy for a child to forget their manners in moments of overwhelming excitement, we started our son and daughter young on what has become an annual Mullen family Halloween tradition: a good ol’ parental lecture on the do’s and don’ts of trick-or-treating.
Do say “please.” Do say “thank you.” Don’t run ahead of other children. Don’t reach into the bowl unless it’s offered to you. Don’t take more than one piece of candy unless you have been given explicit permission. Don’t trample anyone’s flower beds. And above all else, whatever you do, do NOT so much as raise an eyebrow if a well-meaning grown-up hands you a mini box of raisins.
We decided that our son was old enough for his first manners practice sessions before his second Halloween, when he was one month shy of his second birthday. For several weeks leading up to the big day, he toddled around the house with his jack-o’-lantern bucket in hand and rehearsed saying his own version of “trick-or-treat,” earning him a piece of candy corn in his bucket, which he could eat right after he said “thank you.” By Oct. 31, I was confident that my son was armed with just enough politeness to give big boy trick-or-treating a whirl.
I dressed him in a size 2T pair of Wranglers, pulled his arms through the world’s smallest orange reflective vest, plopped a miniature yellow hard hat on his head, and squished his chubby feet into a tiny pair of ridiculous toddler work boots. As we walked down our driveway, I drilled him once more:
Me: “What do we say if we’d like a piece of candy?”
My son: “Pees!”
Me: “Yes, great job! OK, and what should you say after someone puts candy in your bucket?” My son: “Fank ew! Happy Hah-ween!”
Nailed it.
I watched my adorable little pint-sized construction worker take his dad’s hand and toddle up the sidewalk of the first stop on his very first trick-or-treating experience. I stood back and readied the video on my phone to document what I just knew would be a proud parent moment, the culmination of our weeks of practice, after which I could pat myself on the back for raising such a polite, well-mannered young boy.
Just as a smiling elderly gentleman opened his front door with one hand and balanced a bowl of an assortment of every type of candy a child could possibly hope for in the other, my husband whispered a final reminder in our son’s ear, “OK, buddy! Don’t forget what you’re supposed to say!”
Our neighbor lowered his bowl down to toddler level to allow my son to view its contents. I zoomed my iPhone in to catch the exact moment when I just knew he would utter his adorable little “twick-or-tweat, pees.” Radio silence.
The man reached into the bowl and placed a little bag of Swedish Fish in my son’s extended hand. He knew what he was supposed to say next. We had practiced and practiced. I anxiously waited for him to remember his “thank you.” Instead, my little boy stood on that porch, looked from under the brim of his tiny plastic hard hat right into that sweet old man’s eyes, held the Swedish Fish back out to him at arm’s length in a dramatic display of rejection, and said exactly two words: “Want Skittle.”
Apparently, when my son had glanced down into the candy bowl before him and caught sight of a red square packet emblazoned with images of a rainbowed assortment of his absolute favorite confection amidst of a sea of Dum Dums, Tootsie Rolls and Swedish Fish, every word in the English language that he had learned in the first two years of his life suddenly left his little brain.
Much like a ghost out of a haunted house on All Hallows’ Eve, everything we practiced flew out the window when he spotted his most-loved, special occasion treat. The offering of drastically inferior Swedish Fish, combined with the presence of Skittles just inches away, clouded his better judgment and forced him into no-nonsense mode. Tunnel vision took hold, and desperate times called for desperate measures. He simply said what he was thinking: “Want Skittle.”
My husband let out a nervous laugh and apologetically explained to our neighbor, “Sorry about that! He’s a first-timer.” As the patient man allowed our son to swap out the offensive gelatinous red fish in exchange for his beloved Skittles, my husband offered a final chance at redemption … “Buddy, now what do you say?” Thankfully, my son, still eyeing the object of his desire now secure in his pail, looked up just long enough to utter a sincere, “Fank ew!”
Before we ushered our insolent little construction worker off his front stoop, I sheepishly apologized to the older man once more, thanked him profusely and wished him a happy Halloween. Just when I wondered if he was thinking, “Kids these days!” or “Didn’t his parents teach him that beggars can’t be choosers?” or “Where were his manners?”, that sweet man let out a genuine belly laugh and exclaimed, “Sweet little children! Aren’t they just somethin’ else?”
When I’m old and gray, I hope I remember to show as much patience as that kind neighbor showed us that Halloween. That I bypass judging kids who take two candies instead of one, young children who are still learning and might forget how to say please, older children who may look a year or two too old for trick-or-treating, and, yes, even toddlers who might decide to vocalize their preference of Skittles over Swedish Fish. After all, I’m a 40-year-old woman who still loses her senses in the presence of Snickers bars and strawberry Twizzlers.
To all the grown-ups who remember how exciting it is to be a little kid trick-or-treating on Halloween night and give a little extra grace in the spirit of fun and neighborliness, my family and I would like to say a heartfelt “fank ew.”
Read CityView Magazine’s “The Arts & Culture Issue” October 2025 e-edition here.