Root Beer Barrels memories...
I was the only girl growing up in a neighborhood of boys... so that meant that whenever anyone was "captured" and tied to a tree, it was me.... my only ransom was root beer keg candy... thank goodness as it was my salvation.... that and my younger but bigger brother... I remember being tied to a huge rock, with no candy and no brother... that was a long afternoon before I was finally released... the best revenge was dirt bombs filled with inkberry juice... stained the dickens on whatever it landed on... preferable the back of a retreating "enemy." ~ Barbara from Virginia Root beer barrels are as American as baseball and apple pie. At least to me they are. When I was growing up, every July 4th my town had a big parade. The highlight of it was not the clowns or the bands, but the local businesses that would toss candy to the children watching the parade, and much of the candy was root beer barrels. Back then; we usually had only a handful of candy when the parade was over, but what could be better than having candy tossed to you as cars drove by the street? There was only one thing better. It was coming inside with your grandparents and enjoying a root beer barrel with them. It was a 4th of July tradition I try to continue. My cousin’s children now come to our house to watch the parade, and I always ask for them to find me a root beer barrel. It’s not a true Independence Day without fireworks and a root beer barrel. ~ Jennifer from West Virginia When I was a little girl growing up in a very small town in Virginia our only grocer still had a candy counter, complete with step stool so you could climb up to see through the glass to the goodies within. Money was very scarce, pennies were hard to come by, and you had to share. My best friend Sally B. and I had an agreement; whoever got a penny got to choose the candy but had to share half and half. Didn't matter - we always chose root beer barrels. The taste was good winter or summer but I think half the fascination was the scoop. The barrels were unwrapped, loose in a bin, and were scooped up with a little wooden scoop that was itself a little barrel. One penny, one scoop. In a little brown paper bag. I can taste them still, especially that last little bit you crunched. ~ Jean from California I remember when I was about 6 and my Uncle Mike was the fire chief in our local town... every day after my mom would come home, I'd have her watch me run up to the fire station where he'd be working and I'd make fire truck noises the best I could.. the dogs always got a kick out of it because they would go around in circles. I'd run up to him and tug his trouser leg and hold my hand out and he would reach both hands into his pocket and he would bring them out and hold them in front of him.... "which hand" he would say... and id always smack both and say "this one Uncle Mikie" and to my enjoyment he'd always give me both pieces of delicious IBC Root Beer candy. Sometimes he'd sit me up on the fire truck while I ate my IBC candy and would let my "drive" the truck. ~ Christopher from North Carolina |
