Bubblegum for breakfast

“Ugh, how do you eat this stuff? It tastes terrible!” 

She bent over the trash can and spit out a barely chewed wad of bubblegum.

“You don’t eat it, you chew it,” he said.

“You know what I mean. The flavor barely lasts a minute and chewing it makes my jaw hurt.”

He stood in the kitchen grinning at his wife with at least four pieces of the cheap bubblegum in his mouth. The spark in his eye was a streak of orneriness she had discovered early in their relationship. They had been together for several years, but every time he chomped down on the nasty stuff, she popped in a piece as if trying it for the first time. While she complained about it, he stuffed his face full of it and then walked around the house blowing bubbles.

 Her husband was such a kid. So many of them are, and she had learned to embrace the fact he was young at heart, driving her crazy but also making her laugh.

“It’s bubblegum. Everyone loves bubblegum!” he said.

He was struggling to contain the mass of gum in his cheek. Double Bubble, Super Bubble, Big League Chew, that pasty gum tape stuff—it didn’t matter the brand or flavor. He loved bubblegum, and she always made sure to surprise him with a bag every once in a while.

A couple of years ago, a friend had gifted him a bright red bubblegum ball machine. It was brand new but looked vintage with its big glass globe and coin tray. It required change, of course, and a lot of mornings, his first stop out of bed was at that red machine stationed at the end of the kitchen bar. From the back of their house, she could hear the coins rattle in the slot and the turn of the knob as he jostled out a handful of orange, blue, red, yellow and green gumballs to toss in his mouth. This was before coffee or any kind of morning meal … bubblegum was his breakfast.

All kids loved her husband. He was a goofy, fun uncle to any little person who stared up at his 6-foot, 7-inch frame. A human jungle gym that would fly them across the sky like an airplane or lift them up on his shoulders for a higher view, he was the type of silly and warm personality that children loved. The red gum machine in their home became a big hit with kids of all ages, and it carried on a tradition her husband had first witnessed as a boy.

To visit his uncle’s house was to visit the home of a Tulsa icon where thousands of treasures were either out on display, carefully stored in special packaging or locked away in valuable safety deposit boxes. The elder’s fascination for collecting historic Tulsa and Oklahoma items was one-of-a-kind, and his friendly smile was the light in every room. The first time she met her husband’s uncle, the white-haired gentleman told her the story of how her husband, as a child, had always sprinted to his gumball machine the moment he arrived at his house. He would select coins from the small metal tray placed next to the dispenser and follow the steps to retrieve his gum. The antique machine was built to last; the glass bowl was twice as thick as today’s versions, its original unknown color had aged into a rusty brown, and the slot fit only pennies. One at a time, the coins were inserted and slid sideways before kicking out a prize gumball.

“So that was it,” she thought. “That’s where he gets it. His bubblegum craze started with his uncle.”

She laughed as the uncle recounted how gum raids from her boyhood husband always signaled a trip to the store to restock. Her husband’s uncle was a quick-witted storyteller, a genuine soul and a kind human.

The day her husband blasted through the back door of their house carrying that same old bubblegum machine, it was written across his face—he was reliving all of those childhood visits to his uncle’s house where a gumball was the ultimate treat.

“He’s giving me the bubblegum machine! This is it, babe. This is the one I used to play with as a kid.”

He gingerly sat the heavy machine down on the counter. Out of his back pocket, he presented the same little coin tray.

In his later years, the uncle had begun to sort through some of his cherished collectibles, and it was clear to him who should inherit that rusty bubblegum machine. She and her husband stood around it in the kitchen, admiring its aged beauty and character.

“We’ll need to order some more gum,” her husband stated.

“What, you mean it still works?!”

“Oh, yeah. It works like a charm! Babe, this thing is at least 40 years old. We’ve got to keep it out for everyone to see.”

A couple days later when the neighborhood kids bolted through the kitchen for some bubblegum, they stopped abruptly at the sight of the rusty machine.

“What is that?” the little girl asked, pointing in amazement.

“It’s our new bubblegum machine!” said her husband. “Do you like it? Look, here’s the pennies for it. How many pieces do you want?”

She stood at the kitchen sink watching him teach the little brother and sister how to operate the vintage design. Her heart smiled, realizing her husband was now the beloved Tulsa uncle sharing a timeless piece of history. What made the scene even sweeter was how the kids handled it with extra care when he told them it was very old and a gift from a favorite uncle.

Years later, on the sad day that uncle passed, she made sure to dust off the machine and order an extra bag of gum for their supply. His death was such a loss to the family, but the treasures he had passed down allowed his presence to linger. The next morning, she woke to the clinking sound of her husband feeding the machine pennies. She didn’t need to ask what he was going to have for breakfast. She already knew.