Yet the holiday also evokes some remnants of trepidation – and not because of the ghosts, goblins and witches wandering the neighborhood.
You see, my prime trick-or-treating years took place during the 1970s, when stories of treat tampering ran rampant. Caramel apples and popcorn balls (two of my favorites) were said to be effective receptacles for razor blades. I don’t even remember why Butterfingers were off-limits, but apparently they were magnets for sharp objects as well.
To this day, I think twice about consuming a Butterfinger – unless I’m feeling particularly rebellious.
I know this apprehension is unnecessary, but I’m a slave to stern warnings from my youth.
Like the caution against getting into cars with strangers, this one boils down to trust — or the lack thereof (in this case, questioning whether one of my neighbors might be trying to maim me with a razor-filled popcorn ball).
Which brings up an intriguing question:
Does trust need to be earned, or should it automatically be bestowed on someone unless/until that bond is breached?
I tend to favor the “need to earn it” position. It’s definitely the safer option, but likely causes me to miss out on some opportunities and relationships.
I’m always surprised (and a bit jealous) when I encounter someone with a seemingly endless bank of trust.
Are they truly that naïve, I wonder? Or maybe they believe the potential rewards trump the potential risks. They probably don’t give it much thought at all.
It’s interesting to consider the many times that I blindly trust – knowingly or unknowingly. I trust that the car whizzing past me in the next lane won’t suddenly swerve and collide into me. I also willingly hand my credit card to the random waiter, oblivious that he could be in the back room copying down my account number.
The whole concept of trust can be confusing and deceptive, to be sure.
I’m just grateful for my trusty friends (pictured, in part, below).
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