House number two was no better. Knowing he would bolt through the door, I kept a firm grip on his hand. This time, a youngish woman with a baby in her arms came to the door with a bowl of DOTS. “Take one.” Henry grabbed a fistful of boxes, and settled down on the porch steps, tearing open one box after another and pounding them down his gullet. Again, I apologized. Profusely.
At this point, Dennis was skeptical. “Maybe we should just call it quits?”
Henry couldn’t, at that time, speak much at all. The tit-for-tat, “say ‘trick or treat’ for this piece of candy” routine was an insurmountable obstacle for our son. All he knew was that someone was holding candy out to him, but refusing to actually give it over…and then, he’d communicate his frustration with a high pitched wail, or he’d lash out with an angry fist and a jerk of the knee. He couldn’t thank the person for proffering the candy when they finally relented.