I discovered the Wrigleys in the breast pocket of one of Dad’s LLBean fleece-lined flannel shirts the first time I threw it on to take Ellie for a walk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I quickly put it back. I was delighted, but it would be cool to forget about it and find it again later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since then, I’ve found Lifesavers in other shirts and a few pieces of candy corn that fell from his old recliner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The <\/a>Old Man may have forgotten the gum, a sign of declining health. He did not need the warm shirt because he had stopped going outside for quite a while before he passed. I suspect my mother hung the shirt in his closet after he left it lying on the back of the couch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While the pack of gum appears to have been opened by an impatient person, it’s more likely that the fine motor skills needed to grasp the tiny tab just weren’t there. Regardless of being impeded by thick fingertips, he got the job done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You can attach a lot of meaning to a lone piece of gum loosely held in its tattered original packaging. You can save it for a while, sure, but it’s better to chew it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stale and stiff from improper storage protocols, the initial dose of spearmint flavor, I am sure completely artificial, still tastes like Wrigley’s did when he’d slip me a piece on the way home from the barbershop. In those days, it took my mind off the itchy micro hairs stuck in my collar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back then, barbers didn’t take the same precautions to keep freshly cut hair off your neck and down your shirt. Rough men were impatient, smoking, in chromed steel-framed chairs with black vinyl cushions\u2014waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They swapped sections of the Lewiston Sun Journal, all of them vying for the sports section. Some were stuck with the obituaries, while others took too long looking over the Friday night Red Sox-Brewers game box scores.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With a bit of judicious chewing, the stick of gum softened and became more pliable, releasing all that flavor, a facsimile of authentic spearmint leaves, but much more enjoyable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While the flavor is strong, it fades quickly. That flavor lasted a lot longer when I was eight, but it could be that I chew faster now\u2014more forcefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When hoping something will last, it doesn’t. It’s science.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We assign a lot of value to signs, percieved messages, and tiny pieces of spearmint-flavored memorabilia, don’t we? Indeed, it’s the hope that the items, whatever they are, connect us with the person who left them for us, even inadvertently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But gum is meant for chewing, not for display or collection. Holding it is good, but when you chew it, it affects all your senses simultaneously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could hear the radio from the dash speaker and feel the warmth of the vinyl seat in the Chevy. It wasn’t often that I could ride in front and have a window all to myself. Dad said nothing when I stuck my right hand out the window to study the effect of the wind using wrist contortions, as even slight changes of angle made my arm rise and fall at speed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fading flavor of the gum correlates, in a way, with life itself. Strong at first, it fades, hopefully slowly, so you can savor even the minute hints of sweetness as they are released. Too soon, it becomes a little hard to chew for all of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chew the gum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

TC<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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