Ben Franklin

I bribed the kids last night. It was the first night of the final season of Lost! and I put them to bed early. I told them if they stayed in their rooms, I'd leave the light on so they could read. And I'd take them to Ben Franklin today.

In my neighborhood, Ben Franklin is the equivalent of Disneyland. Or crack. Ben Franklin is the local variety store with an emphasis on crafting and scrapbook supplies. They also have one heck of a candy aisle. Harkening back to candy aisles of old, Ben Franklin has penny candy (now 2 pennies), gummy candy, sugar sticks, suckers, gum, chocolate coins, chocolate balls and every kind of taffy under the sun. They also specialize in nostalgia candy, so if you love Bit-O-Honey or candy cigarettes (which are really pretty gross), you'd go nuts at Ben Franklin too.

I like to give each kid a dollar and they pick up one of the handy dandy bowls Ben Franklin has to collect your sugared treasure. And then they can pick out their goodies. Its been a great way to teach math. Spencer, my 6-year old already knows how to subtract and how to "count up" to a dollar. And Grant, my 8-year old has learned how to "play stupid" and get 30 or 40 more cents out of Mom. Ben Franklin is just a great motivator and learning opportunity all rolled up in one.

While we were there some teenagers came in. I'm not sure how old they were, but I would guess about 15 or so, too young to have a car and way too old to be with parents. These kids looked pretty rough. One of them had on a long black trench coat. The girl had black greasy hair and funky mismatched shoes. Lots of black and eyeliner and pimples...on all of them. These looked like the kids that skateboarded and listened to punk rock music. They could have easily stood on a street corner and smoked cigarettes and gotten into trouble, but instead, they were at Ben Franklin, getting their candy fix. Which I thought was pretty cool.

As we were leaving, I made eye contact with the girl and I wondered what she saw in me. Did she see herself in 20 years? How could she, with my sweatpants and disheveled look and "mom" hair. What would she be doing in 20 years? Would she be making grand statements and running around with liberal artistic friends, not caring about the establishment? Or would she be struggling to find shoes in the morning and picking up dog puke (I did that this morning. Even grosser than candy cigarettes). Would she pick up her backpack and travel Europe and eat exotic food? Or would she clip coupons and make soup out of leftovers and try to make oatmeal more interesting?

Maybe she didn't think that at all. She probably didn't even notice me. Or maybe what went through her head was this: "When I grow up, I just hope I can keep coming back to Ben Franklin."