Hershey Park Quotes

After Ben leaves, I head back upstairs to my room, only to find Dad in the kitchen. He has his back toward me, sneaking a bag of Bugles from one of the baskets above the cabinets. “Caught you,” I say, switching on the light, making him jump. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he asks, keeping his voice low. “Shouldn’t you?” I give him a pointed look. “Probably, but your mom actually feel asleep tonight—probably the first night all week. Meanwhile, I’m too hungry to nod off.” “So, where does that leave us?” I ask, eyeing his bag of Bugles. “Can you be trusted?” “That depends. Are you willing to share?” I smile. “Good hiding spot, by the way. Nobody ever uses those baskets.” “That’s what you think.” He gazes down the hall to make sure the coast is clear and then snags a bag of Hershey’s Kisses from one of the other four overhead baskets. We park ourselves at the kitchen island and rip both bags open. Five full minutes of lusty devouring pass before either of us speaks.

More trailer park than Hershey Park, more Five Points than Six Flags, it was a lot like Dorney Park.

I was not above filching empty candy bar wrappers from trash bins at the park or picking up the back cards of batteries from store parking lots. My children all sported Hershey shirts but ate very few of the required candy bars themselves to get them. Trips to the pool were the most rewarding, where candy was sold at the concession stand and the trash receptacles were overflowing with wrappers. On neighborhood trash day, the children and I walked up and down the alleys, where we confiscated extra Pampers points to send in for savings bonds and toys. Even the tennis shoes my children wore on these jaunts were obtained free from the Huggies diaper company.