The Juicy Fruit Tree of Disappointment

Sometimes there's no fucking Juicy Fruit

I grew up in the middle of what would turn into Silicon Valley. We moved to San Jose from New York in the late ‘70s. I was five. My older brothers and sisters told me that we’d have a Juicy Fruit gum tree in the backyard of our new home.

I believed them.

Do you remember that commercial? All of those seventies teenagers, pulling a pack of gum off a Juicy Fruit-ladled tree, unwrapping a piece, and looking seriously thrilled to be chewing it?

My siblings told me we were getting a tree like that, and the thought of it played in my head on a nonstop loop. I remember, even as a five-year-old, being daunted by the idea of leaving the only home I’d ever known. But I was comforted (and pretty thrilled) by the idea that there would be Juicy Fruit.

I ran straight to the backyard of our Almaden Valley home when we arrived. It was your typical California mid-century modern home; one level, ranch style. I ran through the house and scanned the back patio. There was a giant tree in the middle of it. With no fucking Juicy Fruit. I was crushed.

There was no fucking Juicy Fruit.

When I grilled my older siblings about it, they looked at me like they had exactly zero idea what I was talking about. No idea. Someone had obviously just made it up one day as we were watching TV, with no consideration that I would believe it.

That was my first lesson in “expectations do not equal reality.” There was no gum tree; California was just a place. It wasn’t magical, it was just a fucking place.

I can’t stop thinking about that today for some reason.