My Sweet Tooth

My Sweet Tooth

My parents, my brother and I lived in a small attached house in Brooklyn, New York. My father cared for our tiny garden in the back of the house. It was surrounded with brick sides on three sides that blocked our everything else. The other side had high metal stairs to the house. Since I was not yet four years old, everyone saw to it that I was safe and happy in our private garden. I had toys to play with and my parents kept me well-fed. My brother was four years older and had the job of seeing to my needs. Sometimes he played with me and, other times, he teased me until I cried.

The one thing that he did that I really liked was giving me pieces of his candy. My favorite was the black liquorish pipes he shared with me. I didn’t know what a “pipe” was at that age but I remember that they were about three inches long with a curved, thin part and another ball-shaped part that was solid liquorish. It was fun to chew it and get the black color on hour hands and face. Mom did not like at all the black color all over our shirts and pants!

Other favorites were chocolate bars and Kisses. Lollipops and sourballs made my day as did Tutsi Rolls and chocolate Mars Bars.  To be honest, I had a sweet tooth and loved anything he would share with me. My brother would not share bubble gum, but would not tell me why. It was something about “choking.” I could watch him all day, blowing those pink bubble that were as big as balloons. I would always laugh, when the bubble broke and he had to get the sticky stuff off his face and hair. He would get angry and get mean, when I laughed.

One beautiful Spring morning, I was alone in the back yard for a short time and my mother came out to check on me. She took one look at me and let out a very loud shriek! My father and brother rushed out and saw me, with a curly, moving thing in my mouth. She shouted. “Spit it out!” and ran towards me to take it out. I wasn’t going to let her take it from me and promptly swallowed it. A small piece fell to ground, still moving.

She yelled, “Norman just ate a worm! We need to take him to the hospital.” I looked at them, curiously, as they debated what to do. Finally, my father said, with a smile, “Leave him alone! He looks OK”? I could not understand what all the fuss was about. As far as I was concerned, the pretty red worm looked and tasted better than those black liquorish pipes!

Norman F. Estrin, Ph.D.

My Sweet Tooth

January 3, 2019