Peanut Butter Fudge and loose change

Getting back to why I start this blog. I am getting pretty good at typing and editing with the narrator.

Here is a memory and story.

I was older then 5 and probably younger then seven when me and my oldest brother came home from school. Many days Mom would have some kind of snack for us – I remember cookies and candy but the BEST snack was peanut butter fudge.

We each got a small piece and about twenty minutes later we got another one but no more – didn’t want to ruin our supper.

On this particular day Mom left the dish on a table in the living room. When it came time for the second piece Mom walked into the room and I was ‘caught’ moving a small piece under whatever was covering it so that I would not get stuck with it.

Mom swore I had eaten a piece and would not give me another. I was heart broken. I loved peanut butter fudge.

I didn’t get one after supper either. I was so hurt – I never mentioned this to anyone but I always tried to keep myself out of situations that might lead to other accusations but I guess it made me seem sneaky or guilty.

I also stayed away from snacks for a while – I didn’t want to be accused of stealing or lying.

I remember being envious because my siblings could do things and they were never accused of lying or stealing.

I got $10 for my birthday from someone – might have been my parents. I stashed it in a band-aid box in my room.

That box was my piggy bank – all the pennies, dimes, nickels, a few quarters and a ‘real’ silver dollar my grandpa gave me and the $10 bill.

One afternoon Mom had fudge sitting out and I got home first while she was out back hanging clothes on the line.

I got a drink and set at the end of the table nearest the fudge dish.

My brother and Mom came in at the same time and Mom noticed crumbs on the table in front of me.

They were not mine but I didn’t get any fudge, again. I remembered a few days back that I wanted a candy bar at the dime store. Dad asked if I had any money with me. No, it was all in my box back home.

I didn’t get the candy bar but I did have $10 in my box upstairs and I wanted a snack.

So I got my $10 and walked the three blocks to the dime store. And I bought a great big candy bar that had chocolate covered peanut butter and maybe caramel. I think it cost a nickel. I am not sure if what the name was.

It was better then any damn cookie and almost as good as peanut butter fudge.

I hated using change to pay for things. Over the next few days I turned that $10 into 8 or 9 dollars of change. It filled the band-aid box.

I would gather a dollar in change, go to a local market and change it to a dollar then walk to the dime store to get my candy bar.

Why didn’t I buy the candy bar at the market? I was afraid someone would see me I guess. I really don’t know, it just seemed I could not do both tasks in one place; getting paper money and buying a candy bar with it getting 95 cents back in change.

Things kids do.

Kids my ass, I continued this practice for years. One day I emptied the glove box and center console of the old piece of shit I drove and had over a hundred dollars in change. I also turned in all the jars of coins I had to the bank. They called me four days later to tell me my money was ready.

$700+ in change over just a few years. Right now I have a cool whip plastic container full of change – mostly pennies and nickels – my son has stolen most of the others.

Why am/was I this way?

I remember being with my grandpa when he was buying some smokes and beer and he was counting out pennies and nickels to pay for them.

The people behind us in line were not nice and made comments and gave us looks. The grocer told grandpa to bring the rest in later – he had too many people in line.

Someone snickered and someone else wanted credit too. Grandpa didn’t seem to care and I probably should not of either. He could not wait to get outside to get his cig lit and crack open a beer.

I think we were 3 doors from his apartment and we sat on a step for a bit while many of the people walked by shaking their heads or frowning. I was ashamed.

For many years I always paid with the largest bill I had and NEVER used loose change.

And I always made sure my check was partially made out or I had the cash out when I hit the checkout.

I hate people who stand watching the checker slide their purchases across the scanner and when the checker tells them the total they open their purse or feel their pants pocket looking for their money or checkbook acting surprised they have to pay.

What a waste of time.

So that’s how I developed my addiction to candy bars, addiction to hoarding change and making sure I did not get in compromising situations.