I don’t know about you but every time my family ends up at Walmart, there’s always that moment where I tell myself I’m just going in for one or two things, and somehow I still end up drifting into the snack aisles like I always do. It’s not even intentional anymore. It just happen when you have teens at home who love to eat.
I walk past the main aisles, and I pass whatever I came in for, and then suddenly I’m standing in front of shelves that don’t really feel like shopping—they feel like memory. That’s usually when it hits me. Because it’s never just chips or candy sitting there. It’s everything that used to come with it.
I can still remember grabbing snacks for movie nights at home, or picking up little things just because the kids saw them and suddenly needed to try them right then and there. There was always something about those small choices that felt bigger at the time than they probably were.
And even now, I still find myself looking for the same kinds of things. Whatchamacallit one of my favorite candy bars from my childhood. 5th Avenue my dad’s favorite candy. Movie theater candy that you don’t see everywhere anymore but still feel like you’re supposed to find when you’re standing in the right aisle at the right time.
There’s something about those kinds of snacks that pulls you backward without warning. Not in a dramatic way. Just in a quiet way where you’re standing there holding something and suddenly remembering who used to be standing next to you when you bought it.
I think that’s what makes those aisles different from everything else in the store. They don’t just sell things. They hold pieces of everyday life. They remind us of events and people we love and the movies we watched together or by ourselves.
Quick stops after errands. Treats added to the cart “just because.” Kids talking over each other trying to decide what to pick while you’re trying to stick to a budget you already know you’re going to ignore a little bit anyway. And somehow, those were the moments that stuck the most.
Not the big days. Not the planned events. Just the small store runs where everything felt ordinary at the time. Standing there in those aisles now, I still catch myself slowing down longer than I meant to. Reading labels I don’t really need to read. Thinking about what used to go in the cart without even thinking twice.
And it always makes me smile a little because it reminds me that those moments didn’t disappear. They just changed shape. Now they show up in quiet aisles, holding candy bars and snack bags, reminding me of everything that used to feel so normal back then.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
