This time of year, when the leaves turn orange and the air is crisp, I’m always reminded of a certain childhood memory: the fear of someone poisoning my halloween candy and/or lacing it with drugs.
That spurred another childhood memory, one in which I was about six years old and shopping at the Winn-Dixie with my mother. I was a shy sort of child and didn’t much initiate conversation with other children. I realize this must surprise both you and anyone who has ever had the unfortunate experience of standing next to me in line as an adult. If you see me smile widely at you from behind my shopping cart, you should probably just move on to the next checkout counter unless you want to tell me your life story and make oohing noises over the photos of my baby that I am inevitably going to show you.
What won’t surprise you is the fact that I was an incredibly awkward kid. I also believed everything my parents told me, which is why long after Halloween had passed I was still under the assumption that all candy offered from strangers was either A) meant to lure me into a waiting car where I would then be the next child to appear on a milk carton or B) shot up with heroin in an effort to get me hooked on drugs.
I had wandered over to the little display of toy machines was carefully deliberating between a plastic ring, a Lisa Frank sticker or a gumball (those are hard choices when you are six always) when I was approached by two other little girls about my age. They were sharing a pack of skittles, which I side-eyed because my own mother did not believe in buying checkout line candy so obviously these children were some sort of heathens. They asked me my name and what grade I was in and discussed which Lisa Frank stickers were the best ones in the toy machine. The little blonde girl tipped the bag of Skittles towards me. “Do you want some Skittles?” she asked.
My eyes grew wide and I took a small step back. It was happening. I was being offered drugs. These kids were trying to get me hooked on dope so that I’d grow up and never go to college. I knew something was wrong with kids who’s parents supposedly let them have candy AND money for the toy machine at the grocery store. They probably got those quarters from pushing their “Skittles” on innocent kids like me. Illegal drug money bought those Lisa Frank stickers!
I frantically wracked my brain trying to remember what I was supposed to do. Stop, drop and roll? No, I wasn’t on fire. TELL AN ADULT. That’s right. And also JUST SAY NO. McGruff the Crime Dog had come to our school and taught us all about just saying no in gym assembly. I was supposed to put my hand out and say “NO” all confident like. Okay. I could do this. I was going to tell these kids that no, I did NOT want to “taste the rainbow” thankyouverymuch. I had goals in life. I wasn’t going to hang out by the coin toy machines and slip Skittles laced with LSD to little kids. I was going to be a famous fashion designer and anyone who had ever seen my amazing designs using the Fashion Plates set I got last Christmas would know that.
I took another trembling step backwards, raised my hand and whispered fiercely “NO! I SAY NO!” and then ran back to my mother.
“MOM! THOSE KIDS JUST OFFERED ME DRUGS!” I shouted.
She paused her check-writing (remember when people wrote checks?) and looked at me in bewilderment.
“Don’t worry, I remembered to JUST SAY NO” I told her proudly as she looked over to see two little girls sharing a bag of Skittles, pointing at me and whispering to a woman who I can only assume was their dealer.
“I think they were offering you Skittles” my mother replied wearily.
And then she explained to me how to tell the difference between safe people offering you candy (other kids, people in your family, the nurses at the doctor’s office) and not safe people offering you candy (hobos, drug dealers and possibly politicians) and I spent the entire car ride home bummed that I missed out on some free Skittles. Thanks for nothing “Halloween Safety In The 90’s 80’s*”
(*I can’t do math. And obviously I’ve always been slightly neurotic.)
