Last year, a man in New Jersey met each child who came to his door on October 31 with $1.50 in quarters, pre-rolled.
When my brother-in-law told me about this fellow, it was like a door opened in part of my brain. What if lots of people handed out money on Halloween? What sort of lessons could we teach as children figured out what to do with it? What kinds of conversations might it inspire?
I mused about it on Facebook and got some comeuppance relatively quickly: Why does everything need to have a lesson? Must grown-ups update every childhood tradition to imbue it with teaching moments? And what is so wrong with just letting kids gorge themselves on treats once in a while?
But then there were some fond recollections. Turns out the guy in New Jersey was not an innovator at all. Plenty of people have taken fun, clever approaches to giving money away in lieu of candy on Halloween.
Kay H. Kamin, the mother of an old friend of mine, has for years put out 400 pennies and told kids to take whatever they thought a piece of candy would normally cost. No limits. Some years, the trick-or-treaters in her Chicago neighborhood have cleaned her out, but there have been leftover coins too. The current market price at Target is about a dime, in case you were wondering.
Ms. Kamin, an attorney and financial planner, noted that this approach is cheaper for parents than buying lots of candy. It appeals to kids with food allergies as well, who may not be able to eat the mini Almond Joy bar.
In the 1980s, the house in Springfield, N.J., that gave out pennies was on Henshaw Avenue, according to Kathleen Farrell, who now lives with her family in Wellington, Fla. There were 10 coins, pre-wrapped in aluminum foil. Often they were old, so old that some of them were wheat pennies or the treasured non-copper kind from the World War II era.
I heard from a handful of people who give out money if they run out of candy. But a more common approach nowadays seems to be to buy the bag full of candy off the kids a day or two into November. Micaela Gunther and her husband, who live in Eureka, Calif., pay $.25 per item for Halloween candy (and anything that arrives home from a birthday party, having fallen out of a piñata). Other parents, who intend to eat the candy themselves, might offer a higher price for the best stuff, like any full-size candy bar or a favored brand. Haggle some, just for the fun of seeing where children set the price points and how low they will go.
Many dentists are in on the act too, offering cash, toothbrushes or coupons at local businesses in exchange for Halloween candy. They then ship the candy off to members of the United States armed forces serving outside of the country.
The Halloween haul would probably not be the object of parental confiscation if it wasn’t almost entirely candy. Sure, collecting coins and nothing else around the neighborhood wouldn’t be much fun for many children. But imagine if, say, 25 percent or 50 percent of the homes did something fun with money?
Children would bring home a more reasonable amount of sweets. Split among the grown-ups in the house, too, it probably wouldn’t add up to more than a few pieces a day per person for a week or two. And if 10 or 20 houses on the route gave out money instead, kids would have enough to put toward something more substantial.
One money tradition has long been part of Halloween. The Unicef boxes are still available, and the organization has Ebola-relief efforts up and running. Children could also make their own box and pass the money they collect on to Doctors Without Borders or local people in need. If they’re bold enough to ask for donations in lieu of, or even in addition to candy, their take is likely to be pretty high.
Earlier this week, I mentioned to my 8-year-old daughter the idea of giving money away instead of candy. Her judgment was swift. “Dad,” she said. “No.”
But she eventually warmed to the idea of surprising a few lucky kids. We’ll have the usual selection of name-brand mini candy bars in three large bowls. Tucked away at the bottom, however, will be a handful of folded $2 bills, waiting for children who are paying close attention and curious enough to dig them out.
Will they choose to take them, rather than a piece of candy worth 5 percent as much? It seems like an easy call to us. Though I won’t let them escape without a quick conversation about what they want or need most and how the money will help get them there.