A few days ago my husband picked up a bag of black jelly beans. Needless to say, they did not make it long with my husband and I. Cindy, my kept daughter, preferred her Warhead Jelly Beans. Oh well, she doesn't know what she is missing out on.
With each black jelly bean I ate, I wasn't reminded of my childhood picking out all of the black jelly beans and devouring them first. No. I was reminded of something completely different...a time when everything was suppose to be forgotten and not talked about.
It was the Spring of 1988, right before Easter. This was the only time black jelly beans could be found. I craved them this time, I had to have them, I guess it was because I was pregnant with Ashley. Every Sunday at Church my youth group was in charge of running the video camera to record the service for the "shut-ins" and run the audio. My youth group was small and even though this little job only required 2 people all six of us would sit up in the AV loft. There we had freedom.
I was craving these things something fierce. We somehow managed to talk a few kids in my sister's youth group to cover for us so we could go in search of the wonderful little black treasures.
The first stop was to Doughtry's Pharmacy, they had every kind of wonderful Easter treat imaginable...except for my black jelly beans. After my friends purchased their treats we rushed off to a Tom Thumb Grocery store close by. There we found a bag of the delightful little black jelly beans I craved. I was happy, enjoying each and every little black bean...it was my moment of heaven.
To this day I still love those little black jelly beans and black licorice too. Every time I pop one in my mouth I always remember that little quest for the black jelly beans. And when I think back to that day I wonder....