The Candy Factory: A Fond Christmas Story and Memory

Christmas has always been the big holiday in my family. It was not the gifts that made it special; it was the making of the Christmas candy that made it special.

For as long as I could remember, my house always had Christmas candy. There was so much candy one would swear they stepped foot into their own candy store. We had peanut clusters, old fashioned fudge, almond bark pretzels, chocolate covered cheeries, divinity, peanut butter fudge, caramels, candy canes, popcorn, and any kind of cookie one could ever want. It was a kid's paradise.

My aunt would come up to help my mom make the candy. I would beg every year to help only to be politely told it was too dangerous I could get burned, but I could be the official spooner and mixter beater licker; the test taster. My title stuck from the time I was little to I was in high school. My aunt even made me a name badge that said, "Official candy test taster." There were times when the candy was not suitable for a small animal to eat. We would get laughing and my mom and aunt would forget about the candy on the stove. We used many of the ruined old fashioned fudge as ice cream topping.

Finally, the time had come for me to be promoted from test taster to candy maker. I was so excited to be a member of the elite. I was officially an adult. I dug right into the candy making only to soon discover I liked being an observer. I liked being able to laugh at the misfortunes of my mom and aunt in their candy making esacpades. I demoted myself. I was fine with licking the bowls, spatulas, and mixter beaters.

Time passed; my aunt passed away and I attemped to take her place; but never could quite do the job. My mom has gotten older herself and her health prohibits her to make the candy. Now, I have promoted myself to sole candymaker. My daughter is now doing what I used to do; begging to help, only to be told the same exact thing I was. One day she'll be promoted. I only wonder what her ultimate decision will be.