Learner Dad: Pick'n'mix makes me nostalgic for lemon sherbets and fudge of my childhood

Picture: iStock

We’re gone mad for pick'n'mix in our house this week . Not eating them, mind you – it’s more talking about them non-stop. It’s a welcome break from Pokémon cards.

Those cards were all my seven year old wanted to talk about for a few weeks. He loved getting new ones and trading them with people in the playground, he loved the way it got him kudos with a gang of older boys, and I loved watching him tend to his latest obsession. His hippy sister was a Pokémon card fan for about a week, but she tends to flit like a butterfly from one thing to the next.

So when our local shop put in a pick'n'mix wall of sweets, she flitted onto that and her brother followed suit. The walk up to school this morning was all talk of lemon bonbons, sour snakes and chocolate mice. Good – that’s my kind of conversation. We all have pick'n'mix in our past. 

I told the kids about the ¼lb of lemon sherbets I’d buy in Mrs Campbell’s shop at lunchtime, and the way you’d be waiting for the bite that would break through to the sherbet in the middle and your eyes would basically go on fire with the sudden wave of sour. The kids lapped it up, they love anything that shows that I was a child once, just like them .

I was in full-on nostalgia mode now. The lemon sherbets led on to the fudge my father used to buy in a shop on George’s Quay in Cork and bring home to us in Kinsale as a Friday treat. I can still see the way the brown paper bag would crinkle when you put in  a greasy paw to get at your portion of sweet, sweet fudge. (He had originally brought us Scots Clan, but that was just a gateway toffee really once we got a taste for the fudge.)

M y nostalgia trip ended with a few words about American Hard Gums and my brief flirtation with Bubblicious. (If that flirtation went on any longer I’d be telling my old sweet stories through false teeth.)

As they headed up the hill to school, my  kids started making plans for their next pick'n'mix. My son, who is basically a negotiation machine, laid out his position on what needs to happen when the cinemas re-open. He doesn’t like the cinema, the noise is bit much for him, so we usually have to bribe him in with a giant bag of pick'n'mix. His take is that he should be allowed to stay at home with pick'n'mix from our local shop, because there is no point in him ruining it for everyone, moaning about the noise. My take is that he’s seven and I’ve seen Home Alone, so he’s not going to be left behind when we head back for some family cinema time. But I like the way his mind works.

We were nearly by the school gates now. I’m normally relieved to get them into school, the mornings can be hectic, but this trip was so enjoyable I wouldn’t have minded another walk around the block. So I made plans with them to visit the old-school sweet shop on Oliver Plunkett Street over the weekend, so we could make a few memories and dredge up a few old ones while I’m at it.

I feel like I should end this with some health warning, or a message from a dentist at least. But sweets are more than just a sugar hit. They’re something nice our parents did for us, a crinkled brown paper bag, shared fun with a friend, a connection with your own kids when the time comes around.

S o I think we might walk into town on Saturday morning and fill our boots with Black Jacks, pear drops, jelly beans and Cola bottles (fizzy and plain.) The sugar buzz will be a blast, but the banter on the walk home will be even better. Particularly as it won’t be about Pokémon cards.