Childhood candy

Late afternoon. On the small road home, I saw an old man stopping his motorbike on the side of the road, slowly taking out from an old wooden box some chewy taffy sticks, wrapped in white paper. That was the kind of candy that when I was a kid, my friends and I in the neighborhood used to wait for the call “tough taffy” to ring from afar so we could rush out, each holding a coin in one hand with eager eyes.

The man was about seventy years old. His face was marked by time, his skin was tanned by the sun and wind, and his eyes lit up with a gentle smile when I stopped my car. He said, “These days, not many people buy it, uncle. Children don’t like these things anymore.” I bought three candies. I nibbled on one, and gave the other to a kid riding a bike nearby. He took it, looked at it in confusion, and asked, “Uncle, what kind of candy is that sticky?” I laughed. The innocent question was like a knife lightly cutting into my nostalgic heart.

During my childhood, taffy was not just a snack. It was a “treasure trove of emotions” for rural children. Whenever we heard the call of taffy, we would rush home to ask our parents for money. Some of us were not given any, so we had to find scrap to exchange, even collecting old sandals, cans, cardboard… to exchange for a stick of taffy as long as a finger. Sometimes, just for a stick of taffy, we would sit on the porch and share small pieces, eating and exclaiming: “How delicious!”

Back then, taffy was a “rare commodity”. There were no stores, no supermarkets, and no flashy labels. It was just a pot of sugar, stirred until thick, toasted peanuts, and a warm ginger flavor. It was chewy, fatty, and slightly spicy. We kids jokingly called it “news candy” – because sometimes it was crunchy like good news, sometimes it was chewy like a scolding, but each stick was memorable.

Candy cane is also a symbol of desire, of simple enjoyment. In times of poverty, a candy cane is a reward, an achievement after a day of helping my mother herd cows, or an afternoon of collecting scrap metal. Once, I skipped breakfast for two days just to exchange for three candy canes. That night, I tied them tightly with rubber bands, hid them in an old cookie box, not daring to eat them in a hurry. It was not until it rained and the whole family gathered that I solemnly took them out and gave each of my younger sister and brother a candy cane, with eyes filled with surprise and joy. That is one of the sweetest memories that I still remember clearly.

But now, in a society bustling with goods and full of choices, candy has gradually faded away. Children no longer wait for the call. Candy sellers are also scarce. Those candies, along with the sound of old motorbikes, are now like a gift left over from a difficult but meaningful time.

I asked the old man: “Why do you still sell this? No one eats it anymore?” He laughed slowly, his voice hoarse: “Yeah, I know. But I don’t sell it, I miss my job at home, I miss the sound of children laughing loudly when they ate candy. No one remembers it now, so it’s okay if I remember it...”.

His words left me speechless. It turned out that not only me, but also the people who made taffy - they were also keeping a part of their memories for themselves. Each stick of taffy he sold was a time when he passed on a little "warmth" of the past to someone who still knew how to appreciate it, to children who accidentally encountered it and tasted it, so that in a short moment, they could feel the sweetness not of sugar, but of a time of innocence and naivety.

Candy cane is, in a way, a kind of “emotional legacy”. It preserves the flavor of a time before social media, before smartphones, when children grew up with scraped knees, invented games, and times of eating candy that got all over their hands and even in their hair.

Nowadays, when I walk through the markets, I no longer see the silhouettes of candy vendors like before. Only occasionally, a few old men like the one I met, wandering around on old motorbikes, as if quietly looking for someone who understands them. The rest, those memories only live in the hearts of those who were once “children” in the 80s and 90s.

I brought the remaining taffy home and put it on the table. My child was surprised and asked: “Dad, what is this?”. I said: “Tarta - the candy of your childhood.” He broke off a small piece, tasted it and grimaced: “Why is it so sticky?”. I didn’t say anything, just smiled. Because I understand that childhood is different for each generation. But if possible, I hope my child will also have a “unique taste” - like I had with taffy.

Childhood doesn’t have to be the same, it just needs to be real enough that when we grow up, we look back and still feel our hearts soften. For me, every time I see taffy, my heart is drawn back to the hot summers, the cool afternoons, the chirping of cicadas, and the cry of “toffee taffy” echoing through every crevice of time…

Candy cane seems like a normal snack, but it is a link that connects me to my childhood self. Just like that old man, he not only sells candy, but also preserves a part of the soul of many generations. And I, an adult in the midst of a busy life, was lucky enough to stop at the right time to see myself in those old eyes. Because sometimes, just a stick of candy cane is enough to bring back my whole childhood.

Tran Tuyen

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/keo-keo-tuoi-tho-195546.htm