From a rash of candy-bowl thefts to parents whining because their teenagers didn’t get free kettle corn, North Georgia’s Halloween hospitality met an astonishing sense of entitlement.

On June 6, 1944, young men, some barely eighteen, stormed the beaches of Normandy under German machine-gun fire. Eighty-two years later, parents in Northeast Georgia are taking to Facebook because their fifteen-year-olds didn’t receive complimentary kettle corn.

I recognize that the comparison is absurd. That is precisely the point.

Over Halloween weekend, a controversy erupted via a Northeast Georgia Facebook page after several parents complained about their experiences trick-or-treating on Tower Mountain. The complaints appeared to concern a participating household whose residents reportedly declined to distribute kettle corn to certain older children and accompanying adults. One mother alleged that her fifteen-year-old daughter and the daughter’s boyfriend, who were accompanying younger siblings, had waited approximately twenty minutes before being refused treats. Other commenters described interactions they considered rude, including an allegation that an adult could not collect kettle corn on behalf of a small child waiting elsewhere with his father.

The complaints prompted a considerable discussion about who should receive Halloween treats, how volunteers should conduct themselves, and whether teenagers should be excluded from trick-or-treating. Meanwhile, according to a statement from the participating household, its organizers had distributed more than 1,800 bags of kettle corn and 1,000 full-size candy bars. A relative of the organizers stated that her father and his friends had spent thousands of dollars of their own money providing refreshments for the community.

Thousands of dollars.

During an inflationary period in which grocery bills have placed considerable pressure on household budgets, these individuals reportedly devoted a substantial amount of their disposable income to entertaining their neighbors and complete strangers. The refreshments were privately financed, and the organizers were under no obligation to participate. They could have spent that money on any number of personal pleasures, but instead, they welcomed a tremendous number of visitors. Their reward was a Facebook controversy involving hundreds of comments and criticism severe enough that a representative of the household suggested they might reconsider participating next year.

What a peculiar way to thank your neighbors.

The Customer Is Always Right. Unfortunately, You’re Not a Customer.

Judging by some of the complaints, one might imagine that the Tower Mountain residents were operating a 7 Brew drive-thru, where customers could reasonably expect an employee to provide superior service with a smile. Except nobody placed an order, nobody paid for a service, and nobody was promised a complimentary bag of kettle corn prepared to their exact specifications. Furthermore, the experience was never intended to be customizable. Private citizens organized a Halloween celebration and established their own procedures for distributing refreshments. They were entitled to do so, just as visitors were entitled to decide whether they wished to participate.

When we purchase a service, we reasonably expect certain standards, and when those standards go unmet, we are entitled to request a correction. Halloween hospitality, however, operates under a rather less transactional arrangement. A homeowner purchases treats with their own money, and visitors have the pleasure of receiving them. The homeowner may distribute one piece of candy per person, reserve the remaining treats for the littlest members of the community, or close the door when supplies run out. Visitors are perfectly entitled to dislike these decisions, although their displeasure does not constitute evidence of wrongdoing. And while graciousness is certainly desirable in a host, even the most generous neighbor is under no contractual obligation to deliver holiday num-nums with the polished enthusiasm of a 7 Brew employee. One might reasonably hope for courtesy, but expecting a professionally trained customer service representative behind every Halloween candy bowl betrays a rather embarrassing misunderstanding of one’s position as a guest.

There is a difference between the right to complain about genuine mistreatment and the expectation that every free community experience must satisfy every visitor. I would encourage parents to consider that distinction before publicly humiliating the people who have financed their children’s entertainment.

The Court of Public Opinion Has Convened. How Exhausting.

There is another consideration that deserves considerably more attention. The individuals distributing Halloween treats are ordinary people. They are parents, grandparents, retirees, working professionals, and neighbors who have decided to spend their evening entertaining children. Most have received no training in crowd management or accommodating hundreds of visitors with competing expectations. Some may be naturally patient and personable, while others may become overwhelmed when  supplies diminish even as lines extend, and visitors begin questioning their decisions (as well as their relationship with their Lord & Savior). Some visitors may be demanding, hostile, or unwilling to follow instructions. Yes, even your precious child.

I say that with considerable affection for children, including my own, and with the understanding that children are perfectly capable of being impatient and occasionally unpleasant. Parents are capable of the same behavior, sometimes with the added confidence that their dissatisfaction constitutes an important public concern (it doesn’t).

According to a statement attributed to the Tower Mountain household, some parents allowed their children to return to the distribution line three or four times. A commenter defending the organizers also alleged that an older teenager had been unwilling to wait in line alongside younger children.

Ultimately, this entire controversy rests upon a series of competing allegations, and I have no intention of pretending to know precisely what transpired. However, if we are being invited to adjudicate the matter in the court of public opinion, as the original post appeared to invite us to do (for some reason), then I am inclined to extend the benefit of the doubt to the individuals who went out of their way to spend thousands of dollars of their hard-earned money for other people. Perhaps that makes me an excessively charitable juror, but I find it considerably easier to sympathize with the people financing the festivities than with those publicly litigating their disappointment over free snacks.

Fifteen, Without Kettle Corn, and Somehow Still Alive

I can anticipate one objection already. WOULdn’t I rATheR seE a fifTEen-YEar-oLD tRIck-oR-tREatiNg thAN atTTenDing a PArty where tEEnagers miGHt be drInKIng?

WELL, SURE. Most people actually have no objection to teenagers trick-or-treating. Personally, I would happily give candy to a polite fifteen-year-old, and I appreciate that adolescence offers relatively few opportunities to participate in childhood traditions without embarrassment. Indeed, in years past, prior to this inflationary period, I have personally provided chips and soda to trick-or-treating teens.

None of this, however, entitles a teenager to every refreshment offered at every participating household. The Tower Mountain organizers stated that they were reserving dwindling supplies for younger children, a perfectly reasonable decision given the considerable expense involved. As for the argument that teenagers should be rewarded for trick-or-treating because they might otherwise be drinking, I find the proposition rather extraordinary. Have our expectations for adolescents fallen so spectacularly that refraining from criminal behavior now merits a participation prize?

And if supplies become limited, an older teenager should possess sufficient maturity to understand why a volunteer might prioritize a much younger child. The disappointment may be genuine, but it is eminently survivable. The greater concern is the peculiar strain of parenting that treats every minor discomfort as an injustice requiring immediate intervention. One wonders how these little cherubs are expected to endure an adulthood populated by bosses who insist they smile at customers even when they are rude, professors with the audacity to expect assignments submitted on time even when one has a full work schedule, coworkers who, despite their parents’ assurances to the contrary, simply do not like them, and the occasional McDonald’s employee forced to deliver the devastating news that the ice cream machine is indeed broken.

The Extraordinary Expense of Entertaining Strangers

I have considerable sympathy for the Tower Mountain organizers because I live in a neighborhood that attracts an extraordinary number of trick-or-treaters.

Our residents respond with remarkable generosity. Many purchase storage bins to accommodate the enormous quantity of candy required, while others distribute bags of chips, bottled water, and soft drinks. Some even offer White Claws, apple cider, and coffee to adults accompanying their children. We enjoy welcoming people into our neighborhood and seeing the little tykes in their costumes. But hospitality on this scale carries a substantial financial burden.

A bulk assortment of approximately 220 pieces of name-brand chocolate can cost around $25 to $35, depending on the retailer and selection. A household purchasing enough candy for approximately 1,500 visitors could therefore spend roughly $170 to $240 on candy alone, assuming one piece per visitor. Many of my neighbors spend approximately $200 apiece, and that figure does not account for the additional refreshments, decorations, and supplies that many residents provide. Multiply those expenses across dozens of participating households, and the collective contribution becomes considerable.

Nobody reimburses our residents, and nobody requires them to participate. They open their doors because they enjoy the holiday and want to provide something pleasant for visiting families. Yet even this level of generosity has not insulated our neighborhood from public criticism.

Last year, a woman criticized our community on Facebook after reportedly overhearing a trick-or-treating couple make an unpleasant remark to one another about her. I cannot independently establish the precise circumstances of that exchange, and I have no intention of defending discourtesy. People should treat visitors respectfully, and homeowners are certainly capable of behaving badly. However, the ensuing discussion included dozens of negative comments about our neighborhood.

Consider the disproportion. An entire community had purchased thousands of dollars in candy, prepared its homes, accommodated an extraordinary number of visitors, and devoted Halloween evening to welcoming strangers. Yet one reported unpleasant interaction became an occasion to disparage the neighborhood. The woman may have had a legitimate grievance against the individuals involved, but that did not make every participating household responsible for their conduct. There was little reason to publicly identify the neighborhood except, perhaps, to thank its residents for accommodating so many people, particularly given the volume of visitors we received last year.

The same principle applies to Tower Mountain.

An Epidemic of Bad Manners, Now Available on Ring Doorbell

This Halloween especially, social media was filled with Ring Doorbell recordings showing trick-or-treaters helping themselves to entire bowls and bins of unattended candy. These incidents do not represent the conduct of every teenager or adult who participates in Halloween, but they illustrate an increasingly familiar problem, which is that we live in an increasingly low-trust society (and for good reason).

A homeowner who leaves a bowl of candy outside is extending a small measure of trust. The expectation is straightforward: take an appropriate amount and leave something for the next child. Yet too many visitors regard an unattended bowl as an opportunity to acquire as much as possible.

We should not require homeowners to defend every boundary they establish around their own generosity, nor should we expect them to anticipate every conceivable circumstance and devise a perfectly equitable distribution policy. These are Halloween celebrations organized by ordinary people, normies, if you will, operating with imperfect infrastructure and considerably more enthusiasm than professional training. They will occasionally make imperfect decisions. Such is the nature of community hospitality, a distinction apparently lost on those who arrive expecting the operational efficiency of Disney World at the expense of a neighbor’s checking account.

It is also reasonable to recognize that children with disabilities, mobility limitations, or other needs may require accommodations that are not immediately apparent. A rigid policy can sometimes produce an unfair result. These are legitimate considerations, and I would encourage organizers of large Halloween events to communicate their rules clearly and exercise reasonable discretion when circumstances warrant it. My personal philosophy when confronted with life’s little dilemmas is quite simple: Exercise common sense whenever possible, and, for goodness sake, don’t be weird about it. I commend this approach to everyone involved in any public situation.

When Did Disappointment Become Mistreatment?

I believe this question reaches the heart of the controversy: When did disappointment become synonymous with mistreatment? Somewhere along the way, we appear to have developed an expectation that every unpleasant experience requires a public accounting, and I am particularly concerned about what this teaches children.

Parents have a responsibility to advocate for their children when they encounter genuine mistreatment. They should intervene when someone discriminates unfairly or places a child in danger. But parental advocacy also requires some judgment. A child who experiences a minor disappointment does not necessarily need a parent to correct the situation. Sometimes the appropriate response is to acknowledge the disappointment and continue with the evening.

We should teach children to distinguish between unfairness and inconvenience, to recognize that other people have limited resources and competing responsibilities, and to understand that receiving something for free does not create an entitlement to receive more. A teenager who misses out on a bag of kettle corn has encountered an enormously minor disappointment. A parent who responds by publicly criticizing the people who spent thousands of dollars providing refreshments may inadvertently teach a far more consequential lesson. The child learns to regard personal dissatisfaction as sufficient justification for condemning someone else’s efforts. That attitude will serve them poorly in adulthood.

Moreover, as Christians, aren’t we called to bear the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control? Christ instructs us to turn the other cheek, give our cloak to the person who takes our tunic, and walk a second mile with the person who compels us to walk one. If you’re concerned for someone’s soul, perhaps pray for them before airing your grievance in a way that invites commenters to exact revenge through public humiliation.

Perhaps the most unfortunate aspect of the Tower Mountain controversy is that a representative of the household suggested the organizers might reconsider participating next year. I hope they do not. Community traditions depend upon individuals who are willing to contribute their money, time, property, and labor for the enjoyment of others. These contributions are especially valuable when they come from private citizens acting independently, without relying upon public funding.

But generosity has practical limits. A family may willingly spend hundreds or thousands of dollars on treats because the experience brings pleasure to children and neighbors. That same family may become considerably less enthusiastic when its efforts result in public criticism.

And who could blame them?

If we continue treating our neighbors’ generosity as an obligation, we may eventually discover what Halloween looks like when those neighbors stop opening their doors.

And the greatest irony would be that the parents demanding more for their children had helped deprive those children of the very traditions they claimed to value.

In short, perhaps it is time parents reacquainted themselves with a maxim that appears to have fallen rather spectacularly out of fashion: You get what you get, and you don’t pitch a fit.