Fruit-Flavored Candy Was My Childhood Nightmare
I may like to imagine my youthful self as a unique rebel a la Janey Briggs in "Not Another Teen Movie," but in all honesty? My childhood as a '90s latchkey kid was fairly typical. I was obsessed with the Disney Afternoon cartoon block (the memories are a duck blur). I spent countless hours playing Super Mario Bros. 3 on NES. And, when October 31 hit the calendar, that unrelenting urge to don an era-appropriate costume and trick-or-treat around the neighborhood struck my heart.
Along the same lines of my generally unremarkable youth — side note, how cute was I as a toddler Rambo? — my candy collection was often filled with the usual suspects after our annual stroll through Pawtucketville in Lowell, MA. From M&Ms to Milky Way to Nestlé Crunch and way more, my plastic pumpkin was never short on top-shelf, name-brand treats. Unfortunately, that delectable variety of chocolate-centric candies would inevitably be tainted by the presence of fruit-flavored candy, as well.
Perhaps I should've simply been grateful for those kind-hearted folks who willingly gave me and my older sister various types of candy on those cool autumn evenings. But seeing as I'm far from perfect, I'm inclined to complain and declare my unabashed hatred for the overwhelmingly cloying sweetness and often frustratingly sticky nature of fruit-flavored candy. Since I love chocolate candy as much as I despise its fruity cousins, here's why fruit-flavored candy was my childhood nightmare.
Any fruit-flavored candy pieces simply meant less chocolate in my plastic jack-o-lantern
Clearly, there's no restriction on how much candy I'm allowed to obtain at any given time. Not to say I inhale a king-size Twix every day or routinely grab bags of fun-size Kit Kats outside the holiday season(s) — but I could. Now, that freedom to consistently ingest candy is a luxury reserved for adults, as children's candy intake is generally left to the mercy of their elders. Since Halloween served as a rare occasion for young me to indulge, then, all fruit-flavored candy did was take up valuable real estate inside my trick-or-treat bucket.
In hindsight, of course, my belief that candy obtained during trick-or-treating was sacrosanct may have been a bit overblown. It's not as though the only time I had access to a variety of chocolate candies was via my annual trick-or-treating treks, after all. There was Christmas, Valentine's Day, Easter ... and a 24-hour 7-Eleven literally across the street from my childhood home.
In other words, it was hardly a travesty if my October bounty was only three-quarters chocolate (with a disconcerting percentage of fruit-flavored candy mixed in). Lacking that perspective as an overdramatic nine-year-old, any chocolate-to-fruit-flavored ratio below 100:0 was akin to torture.
Every chocolate-centric candy tastes better than the alternative
As the old saying goes: Life's tough, get a helmet. Now, maybe it's just me, but I've never been fond of donning a piece of hard-shelled headgear when the sheer burden of human existence weighs me down. I'd rather scarf a couple Reese's peanut butter cups or enjoy the crispety-crunchety glory of a Butterfinger. Of course, my predilection for chocolate-centric candy isn't newly developed. Even as a young lad scampering about the neighborhood fully costumed, I recognized the superiority of chocolate-flavored candy brands and abhorred those wholly devoid of chocolate.
Like The O'Jays once sang (sort of), candy just ain't candy without the choc ... o ... late. Simply put, chocolate elevates each and every candy it's included in, whether it's combined with caramel, nougat, peanut butter — or even fruit. In fact, fruit-flavored (or fruit-centric) candy was only my childhood nightmare when chocolate was entirely absent. I was always game for, say, a box of Raisinets or a Tootsie Roll Pop because the unbeatably sweet richness of chocolate was included.
I can't (and won't) deny that I often despised finding fruit-flavored candy in my plastic jack-o-lantern pail. But as long as the candy in question had some chocolate, I was a happy camper — even if I've never actually been a happy camper because, well, camping is the worst (and as awful as fruit-flavored candy sans chocolate).
If young me wanted something fruit-flavored, there was real fruit at home
What's the point of fruit-flavored candy? Is it supposed to evoke some sort of nostalgia for real fruit? I'm honestly asking because I've often struggled to understand the basic underlying logic for its existence. I get the point of chocolate candy, of course, just as I understand the rationale for chocolate milk, or chocolate cake, or chocolate ice cream. But those chocolate-flavored glories are necessary to enjoy chocolate's unparalleled taste — not many people like munching on raw cocoa beans. Raw fruit, on the other hand, is delightful as is and was never absent from the kitchen in my younger days.
With no shortage of actual fruit available in my childhood home (something I never appreciated as much as I should have), there was no need for fruit-flavored candy at Halloween — or any time of year, for that matter. A house filled with bananas, apples, or cantaloupe made fruit-flavored candy sort of superfluous as a sweet treat.
By the way: I in no way endorse those individuals who hand out real fruit to trick-or-treaters. Candy is what makes Halloween so dandy, after all (how poetic), and the only thing worse than fruit-flavored candy on Halloween is actual fruit — in terms of edible items, at least.
I'll never forgive those misguided souls who gave out Skittles over Snickers
From the vantage point of two (or three) decades later, it's nigh impossible to remain upset with those friendly adults who gave me less-than-desirable candy on Halloween. After all, I was being given free candy for simply wandering door-to-door on the local streets while wearing a costume of my preference. Then again, it's my right as an American to be irrationally — even defiantly — angry when the mood strikes ... like holding a kiddie grudge against generous Lowell residents in the 1990s.
Now, I wholeheartedly acknowledge that I'm more than capable of letting go of the bitterness I felt at receiving non-chocolate candy during my trick-or-treating days — I'm just unwilling to do so. After all, unlike those perplexing givers of Jolly Ranchers and Sour Patch Kids (who decided on their own to forgo the shelves filled with Hershey's Miniatures and Heath bars for an overly saccharine, teeth-ache-inducing, fruit-flavored option), I had no choice but to accept whatever was given to me by whoever left their porch light on.
In that sense, maybe any animosity is more about my unhappiness at lacking control as a kid. Either way, why anyone would choose to hand out exclusively fruity candy is unfathomable — and so is the likelihood that I'll drop the point of contention with fruit-flavored candy givers in the future.
Seriously: Have you ever tasted chocolate?
Chocolate is so fantastic and so incredibly versatile that there's literally nothing like it in this world. I'm genuinely tempted to simply rattle off the dozens (and dozens) of phenomenal chocolate-centric dishes and items — candy or otherwise — that make life worth living.
Seriously: How can anyone try to argue against the superiority of chocolate when it comes to sweets and desserts? It's beyond the scope of comprehension. I'm not saying I react like Homer Simpson in the Land of Chocolate whenever I'm ready and able to devour a Whatchamacallit ... but I'm also not saying that I react any differently. The joy that's initiated whenever a piece of mouthwatering chocolate hits my palate and begins to melt on my tongue is like heaven on earth (Belinda Carlisle likely gets it).
Quite frankly, it doesn't matter if it's a bit old-timey like a Charleston Chew or sort of boring like a classic silver-wrapped Hershey's Kiss. The seemingly countless mass-produced (or locally made) chocolate candies on the modern market are glorious and reason enough to consider reducing the world's fruit-flavored (non-chocolate) candy output to zero.
Fruit-flavored desserts have their place outside of candy (and Halloween)
I mentioned before how my general preference for (and the availability of) fresh fruit as a child largely demolished any consideration for fruit-flavored candy — at least when chocolate was absent. Yet, outside of candy? I can actually appreciate (and even immensely enjoy) a number of fruit-flavored desserts that don't include chocolate — depending on the timing, that is. In fact, I was never dissatisfied with a Hostess Fruit Pie or Fruit Roll-Up in my lunch box outside of October. I just didn't want fruit-flavored candy or treats on Halloween.
Now, the precise reason why I'll happily ingest a number of fruit-flavored snack foods and desserts other than candy — even those solely consisting of fruity flavors — outside of Halloween time may be ineffable. To those readers who call shenanigans at my praise for non-candy, fruit-flavored confections while simultaneously denigrating the candy alternatives, well ... to each their own, I suppose.
Maybe it's just a matter of setting aside exclusively fruit-flavored sweets on the day candy is king (because chocolate candy is so good). After all, if you offer me a piece of warm apple crisp topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in late September or a slice of cherry pie slathered in Cool Whip on Thanksgiving? I'll never complain. But, try to hand me a box of Nerds on Halloween? We'll have problems.
I'd still begrudgingly eat fruit-flavored candy (it was candy, after all)
Look: I won't sit here and pretend I was willing to take some moral high ground against fruit-flavored candy before reaching my teen years (or after turning 13). In that sense, I may have been livid every time I found a miniature bag of Skittles or a small packet of Spree in my Halloween candy bucket. At the end of the day — or, more appropriately, by the time my trick-or-treat stash was nearing the end of its days — I'd still probably end up eating any (and all?) fruit-flavored candy I received as a kid.
Does this make me a hypocrite? I don't think so. In fact, I'd argue my decision to eventually (and reluctantly) consume every piece of Halloween candy — even those I disliked — made me a bit of a humanitarian. After all, like so many others in my generation, I heard plenty about starving children around the world. In other words, maybe my decision to ingest candy I truly abhorred was merely a way to avoid wasting even one morsel of edible food. Or maybe I was just a child who lacked the necessary self-restraint to stop myself from eating sugar-saturated snacks I could barely stand, like fruit-flavored candy at Halloween. I guess we'll never know the truth, huh?