Transplant injects lifesavers into the discussion.
Truthfully I don't remember what youngest sibling was looking at when we left her at the Five and Dime, but remember Betsy Wetsy as something advertised at the time, so it sounded logical. The lifesaver story I recall relates to another event in the same little store.
We frequented the store, and because of our level of familiarity with the setting and the proximity to home, Granny and Papa were comfortable with us roaming the store freely while they went directly for what they needed there. That's how youngest sibling was separated from us "lost child" story.
Anyway, my lifesaver story starts with me standing alone in front of the candy counter in the Five and Dime in Aurora. One temptation led to another and I progressed from wanting lifesavers, to looking at them, to picking up a roll, to opening it (just to see what the top color was), to privately eating one after another (they are addictive).
Actually, I don't think my thought process involved "I can take this and no one will know," but rather was probably more like "I can eat one, and M&D won't know," so the premeditation element involved sneaking candy when M&D would have said "No," and not taking something was not mine from someone else.
Well, to this day I can't let a lifesaver, lemon drop or peppermint melt in my mouth, in fact within 10 seconds, I'm chomping down on it.
That's what happened, and Papa heard the crunching and knew in an instant what it was (he can't let them melt either).
He also knew I had been standing by the candy, knew I had not asked for candy, knew he had not bought any candy and thought it unlikely that I laid down the nickel on the counter as we paid.
He asked a direct question ("did you buy that candy?") and so, I had to give him a direct answer ("No.") and in a whisk, we were back in the store, I was apologizing for taking the candy without paying and watching Dad shake his head "No" when the owner generously offered to let me have it anyway because of my "honesty" (externally imposed as it was).
I rammed my fist into my pocket and pulled out the nickel I should have deposited earlier and thought that was it.
It wasn't.
Papa knew the real issue involved my sneaking the candy without asking shortly before dinner, and that I undoubtedly knew he would have disapproved, so he pocketed the lifesavers for later and I had to brush my teeth when we got home.
Truthfully I don't remember what youngest sibling was looking at when we left her at the Five and Dime, but remember Betsy Wetsy as something advertised at the time, so it sounded logical. The lifesaver story I recall relates to another event in the same little store.
We frequented the store, and because of our level of familiarity with the setting and the proximity to home, Granny and Papa were comfortable with us roaming the store freely while they went directly for what they needed there. That's how youngest sibling was separated from us "lost child" story.
Anyway, my lifesaver story starts with me standing alone in front of the candy counter in the Five and Dime in Aurora. One temptation led to another and I progressed from wanting lifesavers, to looking at them, to picking up a roll, to opening it (just to see what the top color was), to privately eating one after another (they are addictive).
Actually, I don't think my thought process involved "I can take this and no one will know," but rather was probably more like "I can eat one, and M&D won't know," so the premeditation element involved sneaking candy when M&D would have said "No," and not taking something was not mine from someone else.
Well, to this day I can't let a lifesaver, lemon drop or peppermint melt in my mouth, in fact within 10 seconds, I'm chomping down on it.
That's what happened, and Papa heard the crunching and knew in an instant what it was (he can't let them melt either).
He also knew I had been standing by the candy, knew I had not asked for candy, knew he had not bought any candy and thought it unlikely that I laid down the nickel on the counter as we paid.
He asked a direct question ("did you buy that candy?") and so, I had to give him a direct answer ("No.") and in a whisk, we were back in the store, I was apologizing for taking the candy without paying and watching Dad shake his head "No" when the owner generously offered to let me have it anyway because of my "honesty" (externally imposed as it was).
I rammed my fist into my pocket and pulled out the nickel I should have deposited earlier and thought that was it.
It wasn't.
Papa knew the real issue involved my sneaking the candy without asking shortly before dinner, and that I undoubtedly knew he would have disapproved, so he pocketed the lifesavers for later and I had to brush my teeth when we got home.
©2006 David R. Childress. All Rights Reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment