“ After you”, my father says, swiftly swinging open the splitting wooden door painted a flakey blue. My eye slowly adjusted to the contrasting fluorescent lights after being outside all day; my eyes focused to reveal a world of possibilities. I carefully size up each and every option, carefully weighing and debating it, the myth of money and working having not been unveiled to me. I carefully grab and select handfuls of chocolates, suckers, 3 packs of candy cigarettes, and as much gum as my brown, cliche, paper bag can manage to contain.  

As I slowly walk towards the back freezer, I can see my reflection in the cold, frosty, glass door to the fridge of all my favorite drinks. However, I paid little attention to my contrasting, glassy counterpart. Mostly, in part to the fact, that what was staring back at me was a warped unfamiliar image; it was not the four-and-a-half foot school girl, with a khaki skirt, a navy blue uniform shirt, with a frizzy and messed up ponytail thanks to gym class. After a long day of elementary school, a trip to the corner store with my dad is what I need to start my week off right.   

I carelessly reached for whichever bottle met my hand first. With luck on my side today, I grab out a dark blue Bug Juice from the front row of the fridge; the opaque drink starting to condensate while I admire the creative design label. On my way to pay, I reach for my allowance money and begin counting those coins. I make my way up the staggered steps and set my haul down on the ancient checkout counter caked with peeling stickers beginning to decompose, along with multiple cups asking for money to all different charities and a tip cup hidden around there. “ seven dollars and thirty-seven cents,” the worker tells me, my head barely peeking above the counter. As my father and I leave the small blue corner store, I take a quick last look behind and analyze every feature of this fundamental building in my life; the yellow sign, the flaking blue paint on the wooden infrastructure, and the splintering wooden beams out front. 

In conclusion, these candy trips I took with my dad every so often were so fundamental to my life that I still have gum with me every day from that place. Some of the best memories I have of me and my dad are in his truck before or after a run to the “store.” I also love so many different candies I never would have tried had I not gone with my dad as much as I did when I was younger.