Is Nothing Sacred?

It's been years since I have had Cracker Jacks. And yes, I know the correct term is Cracker Jack. Singular. But I learned it wrong as a small child and no one ever corrected me. I guess they were saving it for more important stuff like Don't Ride the Dog and Don't Lick the Butter Dish. I can only relearn so much and I stopped saying Xerox and Styrofoam, unless it really was, and switched to photocopy and polystyrene. So it's too late for me to say Cracker Jack. I just wanted you to know that before you read any further.

I might have never noticed them if I had not been hungry and they had not been at the "Oh, notice me please and make an impulse purchase" section at the register in Publix.

"Ohhhh, look!" I said to The Guy as I seized the bag. Yes, it's a bag now, not a box. "Wonder what the prize is."

"It's not a prize," said The Guy/party pooper/Mr. Correct/first cousin of Shelden Cooper. "It's a surprise and it's not what it used to be."

Now, I would like to pause here and ponder just how he knew that. I suspect he read it on the Internet. I know he hasn't bought any Cracker Jacks. He hasn't bought any food to speak of in twenty-two years. That's just not what he does. The only snacks he has had, I've bought and put at eye level (his, not mine) in a particular place in the pantry. He once accused me hiding the potato chips because I put them on a different shelf.

 And who reads about Cracker Jacks on the Internet? Well, apart from you, that is.

Anyway, I argued with him. "It will be something really great like a whistle or a little plastic magnifying glass. Maybe a bird call or one of those little square things where you move the numbers around." Not that I could ever make the bird call work.Even if I could have, I doubt I could have summoned any birds. Birds are not know for seeking out the company of whacked out preschoolers who divide their time between trying to ride the dog and lick the butter dish.

"It will not," he insisted. "It will be paper. Probably a joke or a temporary tattoo."

By now, we are loading our groceries and I plucked the Cracker Jacks out of a bag and climbed in the car. "You'll see," I told him. "It might be a plastic animal or a little car. If it's a little car, you are going to want it and I'm not going to give it to you."

"It's not going to be a little car," he said.

And it wasn't. It was a lame four piece puzzle of Benjamin Franklin's  head. On paper the same weight as what's in my printer right now. And I don't buy good paper. Oh, there were some printed clues to help you guess who it was. Like anyone who has ever had third grade history couldn't tell, even before it was put togehter.

So I will answer my own question. Yes, some things are sacred but they are not the prizes in Cracker Jacks. And there weren't very many peanuts either, which was always my second favorite part.

Yet, I think I can live with this. I can go on.

Have you ever had a disappointing revisit to childhood?