When I was a kid I collected a few things; cards and comic books. I don't know the reasons for that. I guess it was because I thought cards were cool and that I could someday make money if I invested in comic books. I never even read a single comic. I probably spent way more money acquiring those things than I ever will reaping the benefits of them. I should consider removing my life insurance policy and instead hand over my average collection of things that one day might be worth something to my kids when I die of old age. Maybe they could do the same so that my grandchildren will thank Grandpa Justin for the $10 worth of cards and comics that I so selflessly passed through the generations.
There were things in my childhood, however, that could have been worth something, such as those Camel points that I started working on at the ripe, young age of two. After about five years of smoking, I realized that collecting Camel points would never pay off; they didn't have kid’s sizes in the Camel catalog. So, with an underdeveloped left lung and a raspy smoker's voice I thought it would be best if I switched over to kool-aid and the point promotion they had. (Ok, I didn't really smoke at the age of 2 or any time throughout my childhood)
Kool-aid it was. My family was a big kool-aid supporter. That was back when it wasn't chic to drink the aid. They didn't have the fancy flavors that they have now, they just had the basic colors of the rainbow. What they did have, however, were kool-aid points and a kool-aid store. And we collected such proofs of purchases.
Every other day I would pick up the kool-aid catalog and look at all the wonderful things I could attain just by drinking my favorite drink. I would visualize how many little squares we had and dream of the day we'd send them off for our prize. Ah yes.
It never happened.
We had a kool-aid point jar that we used to store the cut out proofs of purchases. Someone, usually one of the kids, would cut out the proof of purchase square after a package was made. It was a well oiled process, factories in the late 90's haven't been as efficient. One day that all changed.
I don't know who was responsible for it or why it happened, but the significance of that day had a detrimental effect on my kool-aid store purchasing fantasies. Instead of cutting out the proof of purchase, someone just stuffed the whole thing in there as if to say I'll cut it out later. That day turned into another and more packages were being put in there until it was all of a sudden assumed that we'd spend a whole day cutting out the kool-aid points that had accumulated and had since consumed the kool-aid point jar.
That day eventually came. It was rainy; there was nothing else to do. We sat down and reluctantly grabbed both the jar and a pair of scissors. One point after another, we cut out the proof of purchase squares, whistling while we worked....until all that whistling chapped my lips. Somehow, after that point, kool-aid points became less flattering and more of a nuisance. The idea of redeeming a million points and moving into a kool-aid house, shaped like the pitcher that yelled "OH YEAH!" seemed far-fetched and unattainable. The scissors made my hand hurt and I was ready to waste my time on something a little more luxurious. I had given up.
One package, one lazy day, and the soon after snowball effect crushed my dreams of some day shopping at the kool-aid store. I didn't get anything but a kool-aid pitcher that one of my parents probably just bought with cash.
Maybe I'll start over when I have children of my own. Maybe then we will remain consistent with our kool-aid jar. Until that day arrives, all I will ever think about is how I never had enough kool-aid points.
