Soapbox: Laugh it up, but your kids will never trust you again

It’s that time again, when late-night television celebrity Jimmy Kimmel encourages parents to betray the sweet, youthful trust of their children for audience laughs.

The “I Told My Kids I Ate All Their Halloween Candy” prank is equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking. My favorites from this year’s edition were the kids who shrugged it off and said, “It’s ok, we’ll get more next year.” One little boy even hugged his mom. Another, after opening every kitchen drawer, turned to his mother and sternly demanded she leave his presence.

I can’t help but laugh at these reactions that perfectly display the simplicity and innocence of childhood. However, the hyper-analytical side of my brain can’t shut up about how these children, whose hopes and dreams take edible form and fill plastic jack-o-lanterns and pillow cases every Oct. 31, must be traumatized.

Do you remember Halloween as a kid? No, I’m not talking about your freshman year at the Howl. Way back when Halloween really meant something. When I was a wee one, my mom sewed matching unicorn suits for my little sister and I. She bundled us up with as many layers as could fit under the shiny blue and pink material, and we proceeded to terrorize the neighborhood with our mystical costumes and demands for sweets.

Those candies were a most treasured and coveted relic. We sorted them and bartered for our favorites, and when it was time to go to sleep, we left them unguarded in the living room without a second thought. The next day we’d count down the hours after breakfast to when we could begin the cavity-inducing binge once more. But I digress.

The point is, we knew our candy would be safe through the night. We even shared the nut-filled chocolates and rock-hard butterscotch chews with our parents because ew. Never did we have to worry about their hunger overruling their parental logic and driving them to devour our Halloween spoils. (This was, of course, before my mother’s insomnia diagnosis resulted in late-night Ambien snacking sprees.) The children in Kimmel’s prank videos probably felt the same way. They probably had complete confidence in the self control of their parents. That is, until they woke up to empty pumpkin pails.

Now, I’m no psychologist. Children seem to forgive and forget pretty quickly; adults would be wise to do the same. Regardless, I can’t help but wonder if these children grow up prematurely disillusioned for the sake of this seasonal prank. To be fair, the parents don’t actually eat all their children’s candy. Instead, they hide the stash and lie about it in order to incite and record the child’s reactions. This is where my beef comes in to play. Call it a joke, a fib or a prank; a lie is a lie. For adults, trick-or-treating becomes trivial once you realize you can buy three times the Halloween candy Nov. 1 for half the price and effort. But for the trick-or-treaters themselves, that candy is a night of hard-earned salary.

I’m purposefully overreacting, and I’m probably opening a can of worms on this. To be clear, I’m not opposed to pranks and teasing in general. I’ve been at both ends of several practical jokes, some more tasteful than others. What I suggest is a measure of caution when tender, developing minds are at stake. Think about potential repercussions of the strides you take to get a laugh. If I were one of the kids from Kimmel’s prank, I’d still be locking away my candy.

The candy, now a sweet and unhealthy treat, could grow to symbolize anything that teenagers or young adults treasure, often non-tangible secrets. Parents who don’t show their children respect endanger themselves by being untrustworthy, and though it could seem harmless, the psychology of a child is fragile. Remember that next time a celebrity asks you to tell a fib.

— Noelle Johansen is a senior with a dual major in Spanish and journalism. Her spirit animal is a hybrid of Beyoncé and a koala. Send angry comments to noellejohansen@gmail.com or on Twitter @broelle.