Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Sweet Golden Comeback



Just before Christmas over a year ago, Twinkies were pulled off the market.

And I cried.

Because I thought I'd never see them again and I couldn't bear that thought. When I was little, I would watch for my father to come home from work every day. The sight of his familiar short-waisted grey wool coat would send me tearing out of my front door and down the road like a horse from a gate. I’d run down the front steps, holding onto the railing so I wouldn't fall and I'd go, not thinking about temperature, rain, shoes on or not, crying out his name, "Papa!” He'd see me and stand still. He would smirk, knowing just why I had run down to meet him.

Grabbing the speckled grey lunch box from his hands, I’d unclasp the firemen’s latches and look for what he always had inside the bucket for me: a set of my panecitos, Spanish for "my little breads." That's what I'd call them, but they were Twinkies. I couldn't read yet and to my four-year-old eyes, the two golden cakes side by side in a clear package were tiny loaves of bread to me, albeit with delicious cream inside. I wondered why they didn't make the large loaves of bread with this same kind of filling. My Papa knew I loved Twinkies, and he’d save the tiny package of two for me out of his daily lunch. Every day. I had no doubt how important I was to him - his delight in me was clear. He told me not with words, but with the grandest of actions, letting me know he thought of me in his day.

I ran to greet my father after a long day's work for far too short a time. Much too short for a little girl who adored him. He died suddenly when I was in the first grade; a shocking, unexpected suicide. His death so abrupt that no one could get me to stop looking out of our front screen door, waiting for him to come walking down the street, swinging his lunch box.

After his death, I would ask my grandmother to fix my lunch with my "little breads." And she would. She'd set up a small saucer, one Twinkie in the center, and a miniature cup of coffee -- the scene looked exactly the way it did when I'd sit and share my panecitos, my little breads, with my father, who'd carefully slice the little loaves and pretend it was toast.

Knowing this, you can imagine how I gasped that day when I heard the television reports that the makers of Twinkie would be no more. No more panecitos. I went to the store the morning I heard the news and bought the remaining Twinkies on the Hostess shelves, two boxes of 12. But I didn't like having them all at once and knowing there would soon be an end to my supply of 24 filled me with even more sadness than if I had none.

But then in January, I saw the golden bread again. I had gone to the drug store and while I stood in line near the cash register, my mouth dropped open. There with the other snack items, was a single pack of Twinkies! There were Twinkies! The golden loaves of doll-sized bread were back on the store's shelves after the longest months I can remember. I cried at the sight of their beautiful golden color in the same way I cried when I heard they would be no more.

I brought the single package of two home, and sat, in the midst of memories. Every day since, these little loaves of bread are part of my day. I drop my youngest off at school and I stop at the store on my way back home. I pick up my pack of two, my side by side panecitos. From the cabinet at home I pick out a saucer and set out my coffee. Then, I sit down for breakfast with my father.



* * *
 
Other Places You Can Find Me This Week:

Huffington Post

Aiming Low

MetroParent Milwaukee

Purple Clover 

23 comments:

  1. Sweet memories, wrapped in nice little package. Enjoy!

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  2. Incredibly touching story. My heart smiles. I'll never be able to think of Twinkies again without thinking of this beautiful message of father-daughter love.

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  3. i did not realize they were back
    oh my
    your story touched me
    the memories we attach to things
    and the love shared
    smiles

    i might need a twinkie now

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  4. So beautiful and heart warming and wrenching...these stories of your father. I am glad you can still start your day together.

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  5. I love this. I do. And I'm happy that your beloved Twinkies is back. Yay!

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  6. Goosebumps.

    I never nothing more to say. But I am incredibly happy they are back (and thank you for sharing your memories, Alexandra). XOXO

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  7. Oh, my. That's just lovely, in all the saddest and most wonderful ways.

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  8. Oh, Alexandra. What a story. I felt a big, nostalgic pang when I heard about the demise of Twinkies. (More than once I have claimed that Hostess was the 6th food group when I was growing up in the 70s.) But this. They should have brought them back just for you. No other reason.

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  9. That's such a sweet memory.

    I was very sad when they were gone from the shelves, but I don't have a connection to them quite like yours.

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  10. That is touching! I never thought I could be emotional about Twinkies.

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  11. So beautiful. Oh, Alexandra, when will we get our three days in a hotel room to tell each other our stories? xo

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  12. Oh, Alexandra, I'll always have a new fondness for Twinkies because of this sweet story. I lost my father when I was 8 and for me, it was the Planters peanut bars he always kept in the glove compartment. They stopped making those a long time ago, but they always made me think of him. :)

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    Replies
    1. Linda, I'd love to read your story. *Thank you so much, everyone. I wish you knew HOW MUCH I appreciate that you read my words, and love my father right along with me. THANK YOU.

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  13. Okay, now I'm bawling rather unattractively. I'll never look at Twinkies the same way again...

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  14. You all are so kind. Thank you. Now, off for my breakfast of champions.

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  15. I'm so glad you're able to have your memory-filled sweet cakes. I understand why you like them.

    Love you

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  16. Touching. I'm crying and hungry for a Twinkie!

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, Jenny. And Becky! I am SO HAPPY to see you here!!!!!!

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  17. This is beautiful. So, so beautiful.

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  18. I love how you made a post about Twinkies into a story that made me tear up. Thanks for sharing this memory with us. xo

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  19. I love this so much, and I would like to say something more profound but I can't get much more profound than that I love this.

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