A childhood Christmas memory never fails to crack me up.
We used to visit an uncle who never had children of his own. He had a music studio, though, so he taught hundreds of children how to play banjo, guitar, mandolin, and violin.
Every Christmas, my uncle ordered dozens of boxes of ribbon candy. Waving rolls of hardened "ribbons" came in lush colors like pastel green with red ripply lines running through them, or pink with white ripples, or yellow with purple, and so on! The problem with the ribbon candy is that it tasted terrible. A heavy flavor of cloves permeated every bite. My sisters and I thoroughly disliked it.
When it came time to visit uncle, we dreaded the goodbye because out came the individual boxes of ribbon candy.
"Here's some delicious candy for you," my uncle would say. "Stick it in your jacket pocket. Here, take two boxes."
Being polite, my sisters and I never "fessed-up" about hating the candy. We always thanked our uncle profusely but scrunched-up our forheads in disdain when we got to our father's car.The ribbon candy never made its way into our mouths. Instead, it hit the trash can faster than Santa's reindeer hit the roof.
To this day, the thought of my dear uncle, now gone from earth, makes me smile. But the thought of ribbon candy makes me sick.
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