The Case of the Queen Anne Chocolates

“In everything I did, I showed you that by this kind of hard work we must 

help the weak, remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: 

‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ ” 

~ from Paul, Acts 20:35

      It was nearly twenty years ago, Thanksgiving Day had passed, and the Christmas season was in full swing. Lights festooned the neighborhood. Stores, filled with Christmas trappings, were abuzz. I wandered through a drug store while waiting for a prescription. As I passed through the candy aisle with shelves stocked to the edges with bags and boxes of candy, samplers, assortments, clusters, fudge, and chocolate covered everything, I saw the Queen Annes. Seeing the candy incited riot in my mind.

      Since I was a small boy, I had given my dad a pound of chocolate covered cherries at Christmas. The annual ritual was not to be repeated for the first time in nearly half a century.  Dad’s birthday celebrated posthumously had just passed, and my emotions, brimming equal to the store shelves, spilled over. All those years of sustaining a tradition, the wrapping paper, yards of ribbon, bows, gift tags, and transparent tape, often used to excess, unraveled in my memory.

      I remembered walking on icy streets to the five and dime store to use my allowance to buy his special present. Later, I had the proceeds from a paper route to underwrite the cost.  Other years, I went to the “Candy Shop,” a before-its-time convenience store complete with groceries, pinball machine, jukebox, and dance floor in the back where as teens we gathered after school.  

      There were years during which my father smoked a pipe that I gave him a pound of tobacco, but I still gave him the Queen Annes. As I grew older and he grew beyond the pipe, I enjoyed watching him open that box of candy as much as I did as a child. He knew what was in the box even during the years I thought as many youngsters that it was cool to disguise it in a variety of packages. At times I put it in multiple boxes just to prolong his fun and my joy. He feigned surprise and thanked me profusely for my thoughtfulness. Eventually, I was able to afford more substantial gifts, but I still gave him the cherries if only for the nostalgia of an era passed. 

      It was not until the previous Christmas after my mother died and I especially wanted to sustain tradition that Dad in his quiet, offhand way finally disclosed to me the unimaginable.  

      “You know, Michael, I have never liked Queen Anne chocolates.” 

      “What?” I was flabbergasted. “What did you do with them?”

      “Your mother ate them.” 

      Mom had eaten them all. It never occurred to me that in all those years I had never seen Dad eat any of the candy. Why hadn’t he told me? Then I realized the Case of the Queen Anne Chocolates was solved. It was a case in which for once it was more blessed to receive than to give.  Not until that moment did I know how much joy he actually had all those years. He had fun allowing me the pleasure of giving my gift to him. What a hoot! 

      If I were asked to describe my father, I would say that he was a man, who for nearly fifty years would happily accept a gift for which he had no taste. Year after year he would graciously open the same gift just to sow the seeds of joy in the heart of a small boy regardless of his age.

      The torch has passed to my sons who began giving me the same box of candy. Fortunately, I like chocolate covered cherries because I think, annually, I am destined to receive them. Just the same I bought a box of Queen Annes. I savored each one.