Halloween has always been magic for my daughter—a night where fear didn’t exist, where she could step into a world of costumes and candy without hesitation. But this year, she’s on the sidelines. Not by choice, but because people decided that teenagers should outgrow trick-or-treating.
That’s not what this is about.
This is about our kids—the ones who don’t fit the mold.
The hardest Halloweens weren’t about costumes or candy. They were about the people who withheld treats, waiting for my daughter to say the magic words.
But not every child is verbal.
You know the feeling—the tight throat, the forced smile, the dread as a stranger pauses, expecting words that will never come. You’ve been there, standing beside your child, watching them just look at the person holding the candy hostage. The silent plea in their eyes.
The moment stretches.
And then the question—“What do you say?”
I’ve spent too many nights explaining, “She doesn’t talk.” And every time, it feels like another battle. Another moment where the joy of Halloween is tainted by the burden of justification.
Just put the candy in the bag.
For my daughter’s cousin, who loves Halloween but can’t tolerate costumes—don’t glare when a child shows up in sweats. Don’t scoff about effort. He’s trying. His best just looks different.
As parents of special needs children, we carry the weight of “different” every day.
Give us one night where they don’t have to prove themselves.
Don’t make us explain why they don’t speak. Don’t make us justify why they can’t wear costumes.
Just drop the candy in the bag. And let them belong—if only for one night.
