Fun Dip

The Fun Dip Lik-A-Stik maybe the greatest tool invented by man.

I discovered as much along the first-base line of the southeastern-most Little League field at Yucaipa Elementary School when I was a lad of 10. I was in minor league ball, and I had real stirrups on my socks and the number 8 on my back.

And a couple of quarters in my paw.

Not enough for a rainbow snow cone, but enough for a bag of Shock Tarts or Bottlecaps, maybe a carton of Nerds (as long as I ate them before I got in the car). Good options all, but with a wrinkle-free blue sky, a double-header sweep and the promise of an afternoon of the brothers Mario, today was a day for taking chances.

"One of these," said I. "Please."

My first foray into Fun-Dippin'.

I must have sat there for an hour until I realized that, short of dumping the packet of candy powder into my mouth, I had to give the Lik-A-Stik an initial lik to begin successful candy-mining enjoyment.

In my memories, Fun Dip (or Lik-M-Aid) came with only one Lik-A-Stik (read: lick a stick). This made it the perfect candy for a cautious kid who hated to share food for fear of germs. The only way you were getting any of my treat was to beg for the the nasty spit-glued clumps clinging to the bottom folds of the pouch.

Somewhere along the line, or maybe they always had it, a second stik was added, along with another pouch of candy blow (maybe this was the 75-cent premium version). Kids were always trying to swipe that second stik. I told them in no uncertain terms that were they to place one grubby, glue covered finger on my Lik-A-Stik it would only be after wresting it from my cold, dead hand.

See, I found early on that the Lik-A-Stik was the true piece de resistance of the Fun Dip concoction. I would scrape all my candy powder with one stik (three pouches, senor) and then savor the last unadulterated stik. There was something magical about that chalky, pregnancy test-looking (not that I'd know) candy stik. It was earth-shattering to my elementary school self. The candy stik was the Milk-Bone to my dog. It was the exclamation point to my rudimentary between-meals. It was the delicious hyphen of my "pre-teen" years.

An hour ago I ambled downstairs to the student center mini-mart. I sought a drink but gained a childhood staple. I took my now-99 cent package, folded it into thirds, dumped it in my pocket and nonchalantly walked to the office.

I fished out the first stik and deftly exhausted pouch one: Grape-YUMPTIOUS Dip. In my impatience for the next flavor I left a thin line of purple-colored sugar in the bottom of the pouch. Carefully, deliberately I ripped open pouch two. Tunneling deeply, I unearthed a mountain of Cherry-YUM-Diddly Dip that cascaded onto my lap in transit from pouch to mouth. Only crumbles a deeper shade of red remained in the pouch. RazzApple MAGIC Dip beckoned.

And there it still sits, pregnant with a blue candy powder that apparently changes flavor post dip. I'd moved to focus on my old friend Lik-A-Stik. One side was greatly diminished from the wear and tear of Fun Dippin', but the holding side was full and warm. Delicious.

And I've still got another to go.