My Whistle Pop Memories
The elementary school I attended had an endearing charm. Towering trees lined the front, and the playground, a treacherous arena of scraped knees and elbows, was the center of our universe. Amidst the bullies and perils, the school managed to provide a moderately agreeable refuge.
Adjacent to the school's entrance lay a corner store, a mere hundred feet away. The store peddled newspapers and cigarettes, flaunted a pair of arcade games, and held a special place in our hearts for its sugary treasures – candy. In our collective family memory, it remains etched as the "candy store."
This establishment boasted an entire candy wall, an essential feature considering the erratic surges in candy cravings. Our choices oscillated between novelty and inexplicable sugar hankerings that transcended marketing ploys. Amid these trends emerged a particular favorite – the Whistle Pop.
The Whistle Pop obsession spread like wildfire, vanishing each morning's supply by the school bell. A quintessential fall phenomenon, the warm puffs of our breaths created steaming clouds around the whistles' toot. The schoolyard transformed into a sticky, off-key symphony.
Whistle Pops posed a peculiar challenge for me, resonating with my inherent tendency to bypass the slow, patient licking required to reach the core. Much like the impatient Owl from the popular commercial, I devoured them rather than lingered over them.
As the school year marched on, the Whistle Pop fad waned. Spring ushered in flavored toothpicks, but the echoes of those candy whistle days remained steadfast. Though I've been unable to encounter a genuine Peter Paul Whistle Pop for a while, I've stumbled upon some imitations. As for their whistling prowess? I'm not the best judge – a single note, followed by a crunch, sums up my musical performances with them.
