When I was a kid, the best part of having a few bucks—or even just a handful of quarters—was knowing exactly where I was headed.
The donut shop down the street was the spot. I’d save up whatever change I could find and walk down like I was going on a real mission. The family who ran it knew me, my brother and my cousin. They’d always sneak us a few extra donut holes, just because. On snowy, cold mornings or rainy days, they’d let us sit inside since our bus stop was right across the street. It wasn’t anything fancy, but to us, it felt warm and familiar.
If I was feeling extra fancy, I’d make my way to the nearest Sunoco. I never even had to think about what I was getting—hot fries and an Arizona tea. Every single time. That combo just hit. It felt like my little treat, my own tradition. To this day, it still does.
My grandma, my dad’s mom, raised my brother and me after adopting us when we were little. She made sure we always had food and a place to come home to. When she couldn’t cook, she’d fill the freezer with meals we could heat up ourselves. I thought those frozen dinners were incredible. Like, I really believed they were top-tier. And don’t even get me started on Hamburger Helper. The Crunchy Taco one? That was my favorite. If I saw that box on the counter, it made my whole day.
There was also this tiny in-and-out store near my other grandparents’ place. I’d walk there just to grab a snack or a drink—whatever I could get with whatever I had. It wasn’t about the snack itself, really. It was about the feeling. The independence. The excitement of picking something out on your own, paying for it and walking home with your new stuff.
I didn’t think much about it back then, but looking back now, those snacks are a big part of what shaped my childhood. They were small joys and daily comforts.
Corner store snacks didn’t just fill me up. They made me feel like me. And honestly, they still do.
