CANDY
I wasn’t allowed to have candy when I was younger. I suppose this was my Dad’s misguided attempt to save me from the evils of sugar. I can’t imagine holidays without candy. But apparently I got through it. I was too young to know the difference.
My friend, Carol, introduced to the wonders of candy at age eleven. While she wasn’t entirely responsible for my fall from grace, Carol had a big hand in it. She always made me try new things.
One time, she rolled a large, empty spool of cable down a hill and convinced me to try stopping it (totally un-cool). In high school, she got me out of the library to go to parties (totally cool). As seniors, Carol took me out one evening for my first alcoholic adventure. My parent’s witnessed the after-effects when I got home (really, totally un-cool).
Carol suggested we ride our bicycles over to Solomon’s store and check it out. This grocery store was only open during the summer months for the City Folk. The store was part of Solomon’s Retreat. It consisted of a number of shacks and a pool full of algae. The City Folk would stay in leaky bungalows and swim in the crummy pool. They thought it was grand.
I thought I’d died and gone to heaven the first time I walked into Solomon’s store. Dazzled by bins of crystalline, rock candy, I didn’t know where to look. I was mesmerized by the shelves loaded with chocolate and marzipan confections.
My desire was only limited by my largely empty pockets. But Carol spotted me the ten cents or so I needed that first time. It was enough to buy a small paper-bag of candy-coated chocolates. How do I describe the first taste of hard-candy coating as it hit my tongue and dissolved into creamy molecules of chocolaty sweetness?
From then on, I hoarded all the spare cash that came my way. Once, I emptied my entire piggy bank’s worth of savings (three dollars) onto Solomon’s counter. I bought enough candy to see me through until Halloween.
I hid the candy I didn’t consume immediately — I knew I wasn’t supposed to have it. I buried it down deep in my sock drawer. But alas, my secret did not remain a secret for long. All it took was a trip to the dentist.
I was scheduled for a regular check-up. I hadn’t thought much about it. I’d been to the dentist before and liked Dr. Jaffee well enough, though not his wall décor. Dr. Jaffee was an avid fisherman. He had grisly trophies stuffed and mounted, displayed in his office.
I usually exited my visits with him with a toothbrush in one hand and a lollipop in the other. I expected this time to be no different. But it was. Dr. Jaffee spent a long time looking into my mouth. He spent a long time gazing at my X-rays and shaking his head. Then he gave me and my parents the bad news. I had my first set of cavities, and a record number at that. Ten!
So what started out as a wonderful adventure to candy-land ended up as a horrific foray into the agonies of drilling and drooling, in that order.
I suppose I should thank Dr. Jaffee for helping me forever associate candy with pain and trophy fish. It saved me from unwanted calories and fishing.
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