The Candy Lady and Mrs. S

My family and I were at Wal-Mart on Boxing Day and we had an uncomfortable experience. An elderly woman saw my daughter as we walked by and immediately approached her. She told her how cute she was and said that she looked exactly like her mother. She then leaned over and gave my daughter a kiss on the forehead while my daughter stood, completely stunned. The woman's son said "Leave the kids alone mom!" as we quickly walked away. I heard her saying "This must be your brother?" as she tried to follow my son. Another "Leave the kids alone mom!" and we were safely out of range.


My daughter was more than a little frightened by what had just happened so I launched into a talk about some elderly people, mental illness, loneliness at Christmas time and shopping at Wal-Mart in general. She said "I didn't want to be rude," and I told her that it would have been okay for her to walk away. She was most bothered by the kiss on the forehead and that's where I draw the line too.


Then I told her that I knew a little bit about dealing with old, crazy people. She was interested to hear more so I shared with her the stories of The Candy Lady and Mrs. S.


From the time I was about two until I was five, we lived next door to an old, German couple. I never heard the husband speak and years later we would wonder if he was perhaps a Nazi war criminal in hiding. That's what you get for not speaking.


His wife on the other hand was always talking and took a particular interest in the neighbourhood kids. Whenever she would see us, she would invite us over to her house and always gave us candy. Everyone called her The Candy Lady and, as kids, we just thought that was her real name. She had a funny way of saying my name, but seemed to enjoy filling her house with the sound of it. She would pinch my cheeks and tell me how "beautiful" I was (seemed like a strange thing to call a boy) and said that someday she was going to steal me away from my parents. Oh yes, she would steal me. Wouldn't I like that? She just had to have me to herself and she was going to steal me. All the while she would give us unlimited access to her candy bowl and we would take good-sized handfuls with each creepy visit.



Although I was very young, visits to The Candy Lady's house were concerning and I would tell my mother about her plans to steal me. She would assure me that these were just jokes, but I don't think she liked me going into her house, sometimes on my own, and I'm sure the never-ending supply of candy was troubling to her.


Years later, we had moved and I had a paper route. Each day after school I would pick up my papers on the sidewalk, about a block from the school and Mrs. S would come over to talk to me and the other paper carriers. The other kids would go about their business and ignore Mrs. S, but I felt rude to do the same, so I would answer her odd questions, engage in these weird conversations. I don't know how it happened, but she started calling me by my brother's name and I didn't correct her.


This would prove to be a mistake.


For close to three years Mrs. S would see me picking up my papers, rush across the street to talk to me, all the while calling me by the wrong name. The other kids, avoiding eye contact with Mrs. S until she left, would ask me why she called me by my brother's name. I had no good answer to this question, but felt it was easier to just let it be.


The newspaper published the birthdays of all of their carriers and coincidentally my brother was also a paper carrier. On my brother's birthday in April, Mrs. S saw me collecting my papers and rushed across the street.

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday dear brother's name

Happy Birthday to you!


Unless this has happened to you, you probably can't imagine how uncomfortable it is to have someone sing Happy Birthday to you on your brother's birthday, calling you by his name, while acting like this is perfectly normal.


The other kids stood and stared, knowing full well that it was not my birthday. I smiled and thanked her for her thoughtfulness, but inside I wondered if this hadn't been one of the stranger experiences of my young life.

The Candy Lady and Mrs. S passed on many years ago, but I remember too well the fears of being stolen and the three years of living a double life for 10 minutes a day after school.


I hope that my daughter will soon forget shopping at Wal-Mart on Boxing Day, but it's too early to tell.