I am a candy addict. In my 70s, I finally had to admit it. There I was again, huddling on the ground, scooping up Lemonheads that had fallen to the floor. They looked so pretty, dozens of yellow pellets, broken and dusty, but still so delicious.
As I chewed and swallowed, their sweet and sour familiar flavor dissolved my worries, as I was thrown back into my youth, and a lifetime of love. For five glorious minutes, until they were gone, I was truly happy — until the guilt and shame moved in.
I can’t go on pretending to be the ever-smart and capable person many people believe me to be (especially my therapy clients). Though, when it comes to this hidden and guilty pleasure, I am not an admirable figurehead. (I am addicted to Lemonheads!)
Like any addict, the first step is to admit I have a problem. I admit it. While I lead a healthy lifestyle, eating the right foods and working out at a gym, this over-consumption of sugar is vile and dangerous — and I do know it is time to quit.
A half-century ago I stopped drinking, cold turkey, after one too many nights that resulted in nauseating, head-pounding hangovers. Alcohol, I realized, was my enemy and not my friend. No more holiday wine, no refreshing gin and tonics and no fruit-studded sangria passed my lips. I did not even join in the champagne toast at my wedding!
Addiction to candy is a whole other story. Sweets do feel like my friends. This love affair began long ago and was sanctioned in our home. As an only child of two older parents, I was cherished and adored, albeit differently by my mom and dad. My mother, an attorney, introduced me to museums, concerts and theatre. My father, a pharmacist who supervised a drugstore, came home daily with treasures: comic books and toiletries and, later, lipstick and even cigarettes.
But always, always, candy. I felt my mother’s love. I tasted my father’s love, literally. And, even now, 30 years after his passing, I still see him and feel him with every sweet bite.
My mother consistently presented nutritious, if boring, dinners for our family of three. Coming home from her law office, she would cook up some form of overdone meat, potatoes or Minute Rice, a hot vegetable and a salad of iceberg lettuce.
And no dessert.
Sundays my father brought home deli fare; bagels, pastrami, smoked turkey and a whole whitefish, its golden scales reflecting the sunlight beaming through the kitchen window. And a full bag of candy!
Excitedly and furiously, I hunted through the bag. There were chewy Bit-O-Honeys, pastel Smarties rolled tightly in cellophane, Necco candy wafers, black licorice and Jujubes, my favorite! Then there were sugar-dusted Chuckles, their bright colors matching their fruity taste. (I went for the red cherry one first!)