It’s been well documented in these articles how much Mom loves sweets, but I’ve not told you about her secret stash.
When we lived in Duluth, Minnesota, a hilly, bustling town right on the edge of Lake Superior, I was in 2nd and 3rd grade. We had moved from Cocoa Beach, Florida, so this was a big adjustment for all of us! I have many fond memories of family and friends and the adventure of living in “the Great White North.” One of my favorite memories is Mom’s candy stash.
We lived on Dunedin Avenue, just a few blocks from my school. I walked to school with my twin neighbors, Susan and Sally. Winters were brutal and I wore a snowmobile suit and many layers, which took would take a long time to take the layers off.
Because I walked home from school in the afternoon, I would sometimes be able to sneak in the house and get of my out layers quietly without attracting Mom’s attention. She had no idea how long it would take for my walk home and undressing even though she was expecting me. Mom was usually in the kitchen upstairs preparing dinner. The challenge was to slip upstairs quietly so she didn’t know. My bedroom was down the hall from Mom and Dad’s. I would stealthily walk down the hall into her room, open her sliding doors to her closet, step on the edge of her dresser, and pull down the treasure.
In a plastic ice cream bucket high on her shelf in her closet behind her hats, Mom kept miniature candy bars. I remember mostly Snickers, occasionally Mounds, and the motherlode: Hershey’s miniatures. It was chocolate heaven. Just the smell was intoxicating. I was careful to only take one or two so she wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Carefully, very carefully, I’d put the bucket back, rearrange the hats so they wouldn’t look different, slide the closet doors back just so, and sneak back down to my room with my treasures.
I had a whole system of evidence disposal – the wrappers were carefully hidden inside a soiled tissue or old piece of homework. Unfortunately, I do remember flushing a few down the toilet if I felt discovery was imminent. I nibbled the candy itself very delicately lest Mom call me and I would need to appear before her. I can still see and feel the robe I would wear around the house with candy brazenly stored in the pocket. Because I was required to practice piano every day and the piano was in the main living area next to the kitchen, it would take an act of courage (or crazy) to sneak a quick nibble while practicing, but I did.
I remember Mom confronting me once, but I lied about any knowledge of her stash. She moved it for a while, but it must have not been convenient to her because some time later, it was back in its “secret” spot. I had vowed not to risk it again, but, alas, my sweet tooth was stronger than my willpower. Once I discovered its return to the original location, the deception was back on.
I have no idea how long this lasted. I have replayed the finale, which came one day after school, over and over in my mind through the years. I had gone through the sneaky sneak all the way to pulling the candy bucket toward me. Balancing precariously on the edge of the dresser, it all caught up to me. My weight and balance no longer matched and I fell, pulling the evidence down with me.
I can still see and feel every bit of it: my foot slipping, my hands grasping for support but only pulling clothes off their hangers, the thud of hitting the carpeted floor, the cascade of candy bars falling like confetti on top of me, and Mom racing down the hall. I don’t remember being hurt, but her concern was for my physical welfare so I feigned an injury at first. She immediately put me to bed and brought an ice bag for my elbow and knee.
I remember the conversation around the table later that evening with Mom and Dad and me. All of the sinful elements were discussed: the stealing, the deception, the lying. I’m sure there was some sort of punishment, but I don’t remember that. I just remember getting caught wasn’t worth it.
During this Halloween season, I’ve look at miniature candy bars in plastic buckets and thought of Mom’s stash. I wish she and I could still argue over a little candy bar.
