When I see that old, cheap bubble gum—
you know the blue, yellow, and orange in the traditional wrapper, twisted at both ends;
the kind whose flavor lasts only a moment before vanishing—
I’m instantly taken back.
It’s the true bubble gum flavor, the one everyone tries to replicate in ice cream, and even, strangely, in grapes.
So sought-after in my youth.
Rare. Expensive.
The kind we chewed long past the moment the taste was gone. We must’ve consumed a full teaspoon of sugar per piece.
Every time my adult hands get hold of one of those unwanted, hard pieces of
Dubble BubbleR now, I’m back in elementary school,
sitting on a friend’s lawn after school.
Her parents were “rich” compared to mine.
They had a house in town, tidy and clean.
New furniture, even.
Her mom didn’t work, and her father wore suits.
They had “fancy” food—Sunday food—every day.
Anna sat in front of me with an entire bag of Dubble BubbleR gum.
An entire bag!
My eyes glowed with admiration and disbelief.
How could her mom buy her a whole bag?
She was an only child, sure—but a whole bag?
And then came the moment.
Anna asked if I knew how to blow a bubble.
I didn’t.
She laughed, then vowed to teach me.
And she did.
I learned fast.
We went through the whole bag—yikes.
She didn’t like the gum once the flavor was gone (which was almost instantly), so she’d toss hers aside.
There we sat—cross-legged on green grass, in the cool shade—
a pile of spent gum to our left.
She taught me how to press the gum into a square in my palm,
how to place it just behind my teeth,
and how to push with my tongue to blow.
Then, I practiced without chewing the right way.
Voilà.
Bubble-blowing queen, crowned that very afternoon.
But to this day, I can’t believe we got away with chewing through that entire bag.
Her mom wasn’t upset.
We were even called in for a fine dinner like royalty.
All of this came whooshing back as I peeled open a wrapper of Dubble BubbleR I’d tucked away in my car door.
There in the hot summer sun—partially melted—I tried to form a bubble.
The sticky, sweet mess dissolved down my throat.
Every granule— like that slow, warm afternoon with Anna.
But just as the flavor faded, I heard it again—
Our summer time giggles
as we blew our biggest bubbles and the sticky mess
splattered all over our faces.
Memories sealed in bubble gum wrappers.
Tell me your sweet summertime story below—those sticky-fingered, sunshine-drenched memories.
Write it out with a warm cup of coffee or tea from our Puffin mug, nestled against your favorite puffin pillow.
Headed back into the heat? Bring your puffin pal along in a sustainable tote, water bottle chillin’ by your side.
Let’s swap stories, sip slow, and shop memories that stick (unlike the gum).