I miss Sears. And I hope I'm not the only one. Sears, Roebuck, and Company went out of business due to stodgy management and lack of foresight concerning the internet, according to one financial expert. However, where else could you purchase solid colored sheets, low-priced men's oxford shirts, children's thermal pajamas, and sensible shoes?
All of those items seem pretty stodgy, but are still needed. Children's portraits made at the inhouse portrait studio will one day be a quaint, forgotten milestone of childhood, if they haven't already. However, I contend that the downfall of this now defunct piece of Americana began with chocolate stars. You used to be able to get chocolate stars at the candy counter at the Sears store on Main Street in my hometown of Houston, Texas. As you walked in through the front doors, you trailed past ladies' handbags, and on to the candy counter, situated rightly, before the escalators. The first time my mom stopped there and asked my brother and me if we wanted some candy, it seemed Christmas or my birthday. But it was not. It was only just my first trip to the great, big Sears store. Since I was a little kid at the time, but able to walk about and remember things, it had to be around 1965. My older brother, the consumate candy professional, immediately proclaimed he wanted chocolate stars. I stated that I would have the same. In all my years, I have never met a more delectable delight. Milk chocolate drops shaped into a star, about the size of a quarter--more like gigantic chocolate chips without the completely unnecessary cookie. You could chomp down on them if you wanted, but my preferred method of devouring one from the small wax lined paper bag that they handed you, was to place an entire chocolate star in my mouth and then try to hold it there until it melted, letting the chocolate run down my throat like a slowly dripping cup of hot cocoa. This stop at the candy counter got to be a family ritual everytime we visited the Sears store, even when my brother wasn't with us. Once, when it was just me and my mom, she stopped by the counter as usual and asked me what kind of candy I wanted. I gamely replied, "Chocolate Stars!" My mom just sighed. "Aren't you ever going to get any other kind of candy?" she asked. "But I like chocolate stars," I replied. "But, just look at all the other kinds," she replied. And then she began to name the different types on display, including nuts, which everyone knows is not candy at all. I stood there meekly listening, but not comprehending any of it, as only she could see the confectionaries therein. And so, the problem with Sears began. A small kid, naturally short in stature, could not see high enough above the counter to see what the candy looked liked. And I sure wasn't going to take a chance on something that I could not even see before I ordered it. Thus, I and most likely all the other KIDS IN THE WORLD always ordered chocolate stars until one day, we went into Sears, and the candy counter had been removed. "It probably was not doing enough business," my mother replied. This turn of events left me bereft. Why would they do that to a kid? Other than the escalator, it was the only remarkable thing about this experience. There was a small light in my grief stricken tunnel, however. After the candy counter was removed, we began to visit the cafeteria located near the back parking lot for a meal or a snack at the end of shopping. I discovered the delights of cafeteria jello, always in cubes with a dollop of whipped cream on the top. Bill Cosby would soon start telling us how much fun a parfait dish of this wiggly, neon colored food item could be. As time passed, the inhouse cafeteria would also be replaced--for an automotive department. Only recently did I put together the ending of Sears with the removal of that candy counter. It always smelled like sweet and salty mixed up together, beckoning you further into the store as you went through the doors. Taking the olefactory out of the equation was the beginning of the end. And since they sold way more chocolate stars than any other candy, Sears would most likely be in business today, if only they had seen the future--and lowered the candy counter to the height of a small, wee child. And so, dear readers, when last I left you, there was a man, with a dog, walking through my old house--where I used to live. And there had previously been some excitement and adventure involving the attic, a ladder, and a squirrel. And then I left you with promises to return and complete the story. Alas, the story has been hanging out there for weeks, with no end in sight. Presently, I will complete it.
It is odd how children can stay out of sight for hours, even days, at a time. However, they appear like apparitions at certain moments. When the smell of freshly baked cookies wafts itself through the home, for example. At the sound of the ice-cream truck, trilling softly, still many blocks away. And at the sight of a man walking purposefully through the house, while carrying a small dog, little children will appear out of the woodwork. That is where the story last time left off. The father of my children was about to sic our small weiner dog on a giant beast of a mother squirrel sequestered in our attic. He walked through our ranch style home from back to front heading toward the entrance to the attic. As he did so, he became the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Children we had, and some we didn't, started following him. For no apparent reason, other than that the thing he was about to do looked reasonably interesting. On they all traveled. Through the kitchen. Around the corner. Across the den. Down the hallway. Up the ladder. Into the attic. More children fell into the conga line at every turn. When I caught up to the crew, the youngest child, a small, wee lass of about three years of age, was based at the bottom of the ladder. "Mommy, everybody went up this ladder," she told me. She seemed confused, as if the world had indeed gone topsy-turvey. I tried redirecting her, but to no avail. The Pied Piper was just too enticing. Finally, out of desperation, I helped her ascend the ladder. When we got the to top, I poked my head inside. Afraid to look at what carnage might lay in place, I kept my eyes closed. When I finally opened them, all was well. Dog--one. Squirrel-zero. "Is she...?" I querried. "Safely outside," replied my husband. "Is she coming back?" "Oh, no. She's never coming back," he said. "Not with this dog up here." And so ends the story. The party moved downstairs. The house was repaired. The attic door was shut tight once again. The children disappeared, as they often do. But not before the dog was thoroughly congratulated, and dog bisquits and a round of Kool-Aid were shared by all. In a store recently I overheard a mom one aisle to the north of me say to her child, "Good job, Kensington!" with enough enthusiasm to make the winning point in any championship game. With sing-songy inflection, it went something like this:
/ / /, / \ ! Go----------od-------job, Kensing---ton ! So many thoughts went through my head simultaneously. I will write them out here for edification, but truely I think I thought these things all at once.
My only reasoning is that as a young mother, you are just so deliriously happy with yourself, your children, your family. It is like a five to ten year exhausting orgasmic high. Your children are just so perfect. Ride that wave like a bitching barrel, man, cause sooner or later, the wipe-out will come. Your child will become just another human sharing the same space with you. Yeah, you love them beyond measure, beyond reason, beyond life itself. But your job will slowly change from godlike loving benevolence to just trying act as a silent sherpa guide, as you watch them climb mountains past your own experience and understanding. 7. My final thought for the store scenario was, "How did I know the family was White? And why did I go labeling them in the first place?" I dunno. Probably the name associated with Prince William and Kate Middleton went into my subconcious in the seconds when I had these thoughts. I wonder if I would have gone there if the young girl's name had been 'Frogmore'? 8. Subconcious or not, I have experienced this scenario before. The over praising has always been to my concious mind something white folks do. Someone from other cultures might over praise, but in all my years, I have never seen it. All parents love their children. Some parents give their overspring names like Precious, Beauty, Prince, Titan, Destiny, or Patience. I know this because I looked it up. And I also know of a few of them personally. And there are plenty of pernicious things parents from other cultures do. Probably. Oh, come on, there has to be. But the overpraising thing has only been seen by me in fellow white Americans. Is this what they mean? Is this what it is like to be 'woke'? If so, then I guess I am. I think I have been woke for a long time though. I think I first got 'woke' back in sixth grade when a girl named Judith told me to meet her under the bridge after school so she could beat me up. But that is a story for another time. |
AuthorKaren Schwabenland--Keeper of a daily blog of written matter, reporter of events large and small, and charlatan extraordinaire Archives
September 2022
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