CANDY! (memoir)

Snickers. Baby Ruth. Reese's pieces and the timeless Hershey bar. You know what I'm talking about.

Candy.

When I was a young girl growing up on the Navy base in Goose Creek, South Carolina, I could never get enough candy. My sole motivation for getting up each and every day was the opportunity to consume more candy. The money I earned for getting a good report card or doing all my chores or helping with my little sisters all went towards one chief financial purpose--candy investments.

At home, the BX (base exchange) was my candy shop of choice. First on the buying list, I'd select ten cent Jolly Rancher sticks. Watermelon, sour green apple, pink lemonade, and strawberry were my consistent favorite picks. A handful of mini Reese's cups (five cents each) were purchased to be eaten as I walked back home. The three packs of Now n' Laters (which were always for "Now" and never made it to "Later") I habitually bought were always grape, cherry, and apple flavor. This would "tide me over," as we Southerners say, at least until Sunday.

On Sundays, getting a sugar fix required a little more craft and effort. We were supposed to be in Sunday School, not traipsing off to a strange woman's house to spend our offering money on candy. But how much could we really focus on Jesus when there was candy down the street waiting to belong to us?  So, we asked to be forgiven for sins we fully and happily intended to commit, too young and too sugar-addicted to even care if we were idolators.

I know I was.

I worshipped the candy. Boston Baked Beans, LemonHeads, Mary Janes, Kraft caramel squares, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Babies, Milk Duds, York Peppermint Patties, and Cherry Clans. They were all my idols. It's a miracle from God that to this day, I have never had a cavity. That amazes me.

Now, at age 38, I could almost vomit just thinking about all the candy I consumed. Don't misunderstand me. My sugar taste has not at all diminished; it has merely been refined. I still submit to the occasional Snicker bar, and I ate all four sticks--okay, four sticks plus one--of Reese's sticks just last week. But for the most part, I've turned into a cake and pie miester. Yeah! Give me my sugar in three layers or nine inches deep, and I will tear it up! You hear what I'm saying? Apple pie, cheesecake, birthday cake, blueberry pie, and strawberry shortcake. They all call my name. And I answer. Oh, yes. With a fork in my left hand and a smile on my face, I answer.

Excuse me? What's that, Reese's? Oh, no, Pieces! No. You've got it all wrong. I'd never leave you. Get on over here and let me show you some love!