When I think of Christmas growing up, I don’t just picture department store windows, sleigh bells or the presents under the tree. I think of suckers too. Not the kind you buy in a bag at the grocery store, but the kind my mom made by hand, with love and a little bit of magic, in our kitchen every December.
She made them for all sorts of holidays…Valentine’s Day, Halloween, even the occasional birthday party, but Christmas was their true season. That’s when the molds came out in full force, pulled from the bottom drawer like expensive surgical instruments. She’d bought them at Ben Franklin’s Five and Dime back in the 80s, and they were as much a part of our holiday as the tree itself. There were flowers, diamonds, stars, circles…each one a tiny canvas for flavor and color.
The kitchen would fill with the warm, syrupy scent of sugar melting down, and Mom would be standing over the stove, stirring like a scientist in a lab. She had a rhythm to it, a patience that I didn’t understand at the time. I’d hover nearby, waiting for her to call me over to help pour the hot liquid into the molds. That part was important. You had to move fast, but not too fast. Steady hands, careful aim.
She made all kinds of flavors like strawberry, cherry, cinnamon, clove, root beer, horehound, but the one I always reached for first was butterscotch. It had this golden glow to it, like it had been kissed by candlelight. Sweet and buttery, with just enough bite to make your tongue tingle. To this day, I’ve never tasted a butterscotch sucker that came close.
Once they cooled, she’d wrap them in little squares of cellophane, twist the ends tight, and pile them into tins or baskets. Then came the real treat: she’d bring them to our school parties. I can still see the look on my classmates’ faces when she walked in, arms full of homemade treats. It was like Santa himself had arrived. Kids would crowd around, trying to pick their favorite shape or flavor. Some went for the bright red cherry stars, others for the root beer circles. But everyone knew those suckers were something special.
Years later, I’ve had all kinds of fancy desserts and gourmet candies, but nothing hits quite like those homemade suckers. They weren’t just sweets. They were tradition. They were love poured into a mold and handed out with a smile. And the funny thing is, the kids I went to school with still talk about them. Every now and then, someone will bring it up, “Remember those suckers your mom used to make?”, and I’ll smile, because of course I do.
They were part of the fabric of our childhood. Sticky fingers, crinkly wrappers, and the joy of choosing just the right one. And every Christmas, when the air gets cold and the lights start twinkling, I think of Mom in the kitchen, stirring sugar and shaping memories. That was her gift to us. And it’s one I’ll never forget.
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