Background
We've been delving into the world of sugar sweets candy and diets.
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My mother sent me to the closest mom-and-pop store in our little town named O'Doul's which was just uphill from our street. The other one was at least 2 miles up a steep hill. I knew I could get some candy because Mother gave me a big fat nickel which I instantly secured in my pocket.
So as not to mix up the coins, I kept grocery money separate, wrapped tight in my fist. I already planned to get the best deal of 10 pieces for a penny. As adults were wont to say, that nickel was burning a hole in my pocket.
I trekked along my favorite trail which had a plethora of box elder bushes. My concentration was on seeking out just the right sticks to make swords and picking the flowers I loved and still. Black-eyed Susans seem unique.
At another time these sticks were used for switches by my grandmother from hell. We found happy uses for them, reenacting sword fights from yesteryear. Several of us are certain we were in sword fights in past lives.
I think I was definitely in the Knight's Templar. We enjoyed a good sword fight and were quite skilled at it. We seemed to have the style down pat, as if we were born with the skills and knowledge of swords.
As you may have already predicted, with my ADD, I forgot I had money in my hand. When I got to the store I had only a few coins left. However, the next day, I was delirious, believing myself to be one of the luckiest girls in the world. I found all kinds of coins on the path. I wondered who might have dropped their money while walking along the road.
That's so funny looking back now. I must have been great entertainment for the grocer. My mother was more of an auditory perceiver than I am, whom I've discovered to be visual. She did not print out any of the grocery list only telling me what to get.
By now, you can probably imagine what happened when I got up to the store. I was asking for everything in the wrong container and the wrong amount. The grocer chuckled when he saw me entering the store. He knew he'd have to call my mother because he was sure she did not want a box of hamburger or a bottle of flour.
Refreshing everyone's memory of our bottle collecting antics, no more than 50 feet from the townhall driveway, was a little building where we could trade our bottles for candy. It certainly was more convenient than lugging the bottles up the hill to our small neighborhood store.
We, however, decided the walk up the moderately inclined hill was well rewarded. The grocery store sold 5 pieces for a penny. So, with 10 bottles, we could walk out with 50 pieces of candy and some ice cream!
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I felt pretty darn grown up when I graduated from Brownies to Girl Scouts. That meant shedding my brown dress and wearing a green skirt, white blouse, and sash for badges. I knew Mother would help me earn a badge for cooking and another for sewing. I was already goal-oriented.
When I went with Mother to buy the Girl Scout uniform, I was excited until I realized we had to go into one of those fancy stores. I felt like shit when I two-stepped into that store. You may remember as I do, with my brother and me on each hand, my mother saying as we went into some fancy store, "I always feel like shit when I come in here."
The clerk who attended to us in the Girl Scout clothing department added truth to my mother's statement right on the nose. That bitter snooty woman said something to a complete stranger, a 10-year-old child. It was none of her business and completely condescending.
Because they didn't have any fancy little girl uniforms, she looked at me down her nose and said, "Would you like to go on a diet with me, dearie?"
I'm still seething. To add injury to insult, on the way out, Mother hissed, "Oh, I'd like to cut your tastebuds out."
The irony here is though my mother was so humiliated she had to take it out on me, she was delighted I had taste buds to be able to savor anything she baked. She was aware of how grateful I was for that comforting cake greeting me when I came home from a rough day at school.
Shortly after that, at the age of 10, I was put on a 900-calorie diet by the doctor. I did hear similar stories from several women at the shelter where I worked as an advocate. Imagine putting a 10-year-old on a 900-calorie diet.
Hopefully, none of you experienced the same thing. Ah, but as a consolation prize, I was told there was such a thing as dietetic candy. I thought everything would be okay, as I chose the dull-colored hard candies.
When I popped one in my mouth, I was afraid my tongue would never be the same. With my tastebuds numbed, I couldn't spit it out fast enough. Ah, that might have been part of the diet plan. Numb her tongue so she doesn't taste anything.
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In the pre-diet year era, for lack of space, our gang was bused to another school. My mouth was watering. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. A little van pulled into a space for our recess break. Just as with our other school, candy was for sale at recess.
