So I was walking through a mall parking lot yesterday when I stumbled upon this—a crushed candy cane in a wrapper, alone to wallow in the Southern California daylight.
It struck me as really pathetic.
This guy was created for one reason—to be eaten between mid-November and the first week of January. He was shaped, colored, packages for that very purpose. He was made to me a seasonal candy cane. He existed to be a seasonal candy cane. There would be no February for this object. Certainly no March. Somewhere in the United States, a little boy or girl was destined to approach a bowl, or tree, and giddily pick up the candy cane, open the plastic and eat it.
The best analogy, for me, is Lieutenant Dan, who was supposed to die fighting in Vietnam, just as his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had perished in wars.
This candy cane was supposed to die with Christmas. He was supposed to go out in a crunch of glory, just as his his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had perished in holidays past.
Alas, he’s there.
In the mall lot.
