Gummy Bears & Guilt

I lugged my old pink polka-dotted pillowcase through the front door, my brother following suit with his slightly smaller, yellow and navy blue striped one. Each was filled to the brim with candy from a successful night of trick-or-treating, the shiny packaging crinkling against each other as we carried our haul into the kitchen.

Sitting down just far enough from each other to make sure our piles didn’t overlap, we emptied the contents of our pillowcases onto the floor. A rainbow of sweets covered the hardwood. I sorted through the mountain of candy, sifting through the boring pieces that nearly every house gives out. Almond Joy, 3 Musketeers, Butterfingers—who even eats those anymore—all were going straight into my “dad” pile that he’ll throw in the freezer.?

My favorite type of candy was anything that was sour, fruity or had a good chew. I kind of loved the artificial taste they left in your mouth and the way they got stuck in your teeth, also known as my mom’s worst nightmare (she’s a dentist, self-explanatory).?

As my “keep” pile of Sour Patch Kids, Haribo Gummy Bears, Swedish Fish, Sour Skittles and Trolli Sour Gummy Worms grew, so did the small pile of wrappers next to me as I popped pieces into my mouth.

I looked over at my brother sorting through his pile in his taekwondo master costume, wearing my dad's blackbelt.

His pile was never as big as mine; we were four years apart, so obviously, as the oldest, I always had more. He always gravitated towards chocolate more; his pile was mainly Twix, KitKats, Hershey's and M&Ms.

We divided our respective stashes into multiple gallon-sized Ziploc bags to be placed in the pantry. I wrote “JESSI’S CANDY, DO NOT TOUCH” in thick, fat black letters with a wide sharpie. If my brother went through it, naturally I would get upset—it clearly says do not touch. However, I was older than him, so obviously, I had free rein to dip into his stash whenever I wanted, even though I had enough candy to last me until next Halloween.

Looking back on this over ten years later, I feel this tinge of guilt as an older sister. I should’ve offered him more of my candy instead of trying to prove my “eldest” status by boasting a larger stash—who was I even trying to prove this to? To my brother, it was never really about the candy. He was just happy to spend time with his older sister, who subconsciously treated it like a competition.?

I think it’s good to feel slightly guilty when reminiscing on memories. We always could have treated someone better, done something differently or just tried to be a nicer person. Reflecting with a sense of regret means we are looking at a memory from a new moral standpoint, one with the ability to realize what we did wrong and how to improve moving forward.

Now, I’m a senior in college and he’s a junior in high school. I celebrated Halloween with my friends for the last time as a college student, and he went to his very first high school party. I can’t even remember the last time we went trick-or-treating and did our routine, but I’ll never forget all those years of sitting on the kitchen floor together.