TO MY HOMIE FROM THE HABRA
Bazooka Bubblegum.
Does it seem at all odd that such a benign and joyful chewing product would be so aggressively named? And do you think Bazooka, in conjunction with its similarly weapon-centric confectionary compatriots, (1) is complicit in a candy-based conspiracy to militarize youth everywhere sweets are sold. Are we going to survive the coming child uprising? Do you think a child-like spirit is enough to be spared? And whom do you think they will pick as a leader? Miley? Beiber? Milonakis? Anyway. I think my kids are going to eat Lifesavers. Or apples and stuff.
Mostly, though, I wanted to tell you about my mom and how much she loved gum as a kid and how because she came up poor she couldn’t afford to buy any. So she would pick and chew leftover treasure excavated from the bottom of restaurant tables, park benches, and school desk-chair combos. And she, despite unfamiliar fingerprints, stray splinters, and mismatched paint chips, kept chewing and smiling and feeling joyful. And she loved it so much that she would tell her kids this story and laugh and blush then say “Oh, gosh” and smile.
And for me this says a lot about love. And how when you love something sometimes you do things that are stupid and reckless and bad for you, but it doesn’t stop you because it is these things that make you laugh and blush then say “Oh, gosh” and smile.
(1) Atomic Fireballs, Warheads, Spearmint, Trident, etc.
