I should have known Stacy was going to be trouble the day I watched in horror as she sprinkled sugar onto her bowl of macaroni and cheese. Anyone with that much of a sweet tooth should not have been allowed within fifty feet of one’s sugar collection.
I don't remember how I came to collect sugar packets. I do remember I loved them. It was not the sugar; it was the art on the packets that attracted me. Logos of restaurants, tourist destinations, flowers, Presidents, and birds could be found on the paper-wrapped, individual sugars you found on the tables of restaurants in the 1970s.*
Likely, the collection began with my parents. I imagine that they brought home the tiny packets as a souvenir, a sweet reward for me for being well-behaved for the babysitter when they went out on dinner dates. As I got older, I began to pull a packet from the tightly packed sugar packet holders myself, sweet reminders of a vacation or a special occasion.
I never, ever opened the packets. I brought them home and carefully tucked them into a wooden box. I think it was a cigar box that my grandfather gave me. I remember the box had a distinct smell, a combination of my grandfather, cigar-scented wood, old paper, and stale sugar. The smells of comfort.
When I was bored, which was an often-enough occurrence for a child in those days, I would go into my bedroom closet, pull down my sugar collection from the top shelf, and study the illustrations on the packets for hours. I would sort the packets according to category: travel, birds, sea, flower. I would build stories with the images I found on the packages. I would imagine that the image of a woman on one package would be visiting Niagara Falls (on the other package) and maybe she would stay at the Howard Johnson's and have the very chocolate sundae pictured on another packet. It brought me comfort to bring order to my collection. As a child there are few occasions in which you feel you are in control. Organizing my collection felt like I was in control.
Stacy was the daughter of my parent’s friends. She was a horrible little girl. Her dark ponytails swinging as she fussed and whined about everything. She was not anyone I would have chosen to be friends with but in those days, play dates were for the parents not the children. Our parents were friends who spent time together, while the children were sent off to play with strict instructions to not bother the adults. (These days the situation is reversed, and parents are forced to be friends so the children can play with their friends. Oh, how the power struggle has changed!)
I don't remember the events that led to the destruction of my beloved collection. I seem to recall* I walked into my closet to find Stacy, sitting on the floor, head thrown back in ecstasy as she poured sugar into her mouth. My beloved collection scattered around her. The lovely packets torn in half. The gorgeous images ruined beyond repair. I remember feeling that the least she could have done was carefully rip the edge of the packet to drain it. But I suppose a girl feeding her addiction does not think of anything but the high.
I stood there, in horror, unable to speak. I could not tell on her. I would get in trouble for interrupting the adults and there was a chance I could even get in trouble for allowing her to eat my collection. I worried that my mother would scold me for not standing up to Stacy, for allowing myself to be victimized. I waited until they packed up and left before I told my mother what happened. To my relief, I did not get in trouble. I don't think Stacy did either. In fact, I doubt her mother ever heard about the theft.
Later, I tried to rebuild my collection but by then beautifully printed sugar packets were losing their popularity*. Often, when I would pull the bowl of sugar packets towards me, I would only find brand names printed on the front.
The collection lives on in my mind though. I think of the collection and the sugar thief whenever I grab a sugar packet for my iced tea.
*Name has been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
*To see samples of sugar packets similar to my collection, visit the mood board I created for this essay.
*Decorative sugar packets can still be found in Europe and there is an active group of sugar packet collectors out there in the world. They call themselves sucrologists. To learn more about sucrology, visit The UK’s Sucrologists’Club
At the Check-Out Desk
If you are a long time reader, you may recognize this story. It’s an oldie but goody from the archives. Since many of you are new here, I wanted to share it with you. It’s one of my favorite stories. Maybe because collecting sugar packets was such an odd hobby for a young girl. It makes my heart go out to my younger self. As I’m aging, she’s peeking her head out from her hiding place more and more and I’m excited to see what other stories she has to tell.
Looking through the archives for this story was fun and I realized I will be celebrating the one year anniversary of my Substack on April 30! I cannot believe a year has gone by already. I’ve learned a lot about Substack, writing, and myself in that year and I have plans to write a post about My Year on Substack in the next few weeks, so stay tuned.
Thanks for reading and commenting and being generally supportive,
What a wonderful story. There always seems to be a brat of a kid that ruins your stuff. And yesterday in the fifties we too were told to go play and don’t bother the adults.
MY FAVOURITE STORY!!!!