The Sweet Logic of Childhood: Why My Friend Thought Strawberry Gum Grew on Bushes
We’ve all been there. That moment years later when you suddenly remember something utterly bizarre you did as a kid, and you think, “Why on earth did that seem like a good idea?” Childhood logic operates on a different plane – a wondrous mix of boundless imagination, limited world experience, and a beautiful, terrifying confidence in one’s own brilliant plans. My friend Sarah recently shared a story that perfectly encapsulates this unique blend of innocence and questionable reasoning.
Her childhood was steeped in the magic of her grandmother’s sprawling garden. Rows of plump tomatoes, fragrant herbs, and especially the jewel-like strawberries held her captivated. She knew where delicious things came from: the earth. She also knew about gum – specifically, the glorious pink, strawberry-flavored gum she coveted at the corner store. The connection, in her young mind, was blindingly obvious.
The Grand Plan: If strawberries grew on little plants, then surely strawberry gum must grow on a bigger, more special plant! It was pure, unadulterated botanical logic. The local park, with its tall, unfamiliar bushes near the playground, seemed the perfect, unexplored territory for such a marvel. Armed with the unwavering determination only a six-year-old can muster, Sarah embarked on her expedition. Her mission? To harvest this elusive, chewy fruit.
She vividly remembers the intense focus. She’d push aside leaves, peering underneath bushes, searching for anything that resembled the shiny, pink wrappers or, hopefully, the gum itself just growing there. She wasn’t looking for berries; she was looking for Wrigley’s. She poked at interesting-looking buds and examined strange seed pods, convinced the treasure was moments away. Disappointment didn’t deter her that first day. It merely solidified her belief that she simply hadn’t found the right bush yet.
This quest became her semi-secret park activity for weeks. Every visit involved a dedicated scan of the shrubbery. The sheer persistence is almost admirable. There was no doubt in her mind; the existence of strawberry gum bushes was as factual as the sun rising. Why wouldn’t it be? The world was full of amazing things popping out of the ground!
The Bitter (or Sticky?) Truth: The inevitable crash landing came courtesy of an older, more worldly-wise cousin. Sarah, brimming with the excitement of a potential future gum farmer, proudly declared her ongoing search. Her cousin stared, blinked, and then burst into laughter. “Sarah,” she giggled, “Gum doesn’t grow on bushes! People make it in factories!”
The memory of that moment still makes Sarah cringe-laugh. The sheer, absolute certainty she’d held, shattered in an instant. The elaborate mental map of the park’s gum-growing potential zones evaporated. The disappointment was profound. Not only was her quest futile, but the world suddenly felt a little less wondrous, a little more ordinary. The magical connection between the sweet red fruit she picked with her grandma and the sweet pink gum she bought at the store was severed. They belonged to entirely different realms.
Why Do Kids Think Like This?
Sarah’s strawberry gum bush quest wasn’t just a silly kid thing; it was a fascinating glimpse into how young minds work:
1. Connecting the (Wrong) Dots: Kids are master pattern recognizers, but they lack context. Strawberries (plant) + Strawberry Gum (also delicious) = Must come from a plant! It’s a leap of logic based on superficial similarity, a classic hallmark of early childhood reasoning.
2. Literal Interpretations: Names are powerful. “Strawberry gum” must involve actual strawberries, therefore, it must originate like other strawberry things. The abstract concept of artificial flavoring and factory production was miles beyond her grasp.
3. Experience is King: Her world was small. Gardens grew food. The store sold things. Her direct experience didn’t yet include the complex manufacturing processes behind everyday items. If she hadn’t seen it made, it must grow somewhere!
4. Unshakeable Confidence: There’s a beautiful fearlessness in childhood conviction. Doubt hadn’t yet become a constant companion. Her idea made perfect sense to her, so why wouldn’t it be true? This confidence fuels exploration and learning, even when it leads to sticky (or non-existent) bush investigations.
The Lingering Charm of “Bad” Ideas:
Decades later, Sarah’s story isn’t told with embarrassment, but with affection for that fiercely determined little girl in the park. These seemingly “bad” ideas born of innocence are precious. They represent:
Unfiltered Creativity: Before rules and “how things really work” box us in, kids make astonishingly original (if impractical) connections.
Pure Curiosity: The drive to understand, to explore, to find things out for themselves – even if the hypothesis is wildly off base.
The Courage to Try: That willingness to act on an idea, regardless of how outlandish it might seem to others.
We lose some of that raw, imaginative problem-solving as we grow older. We learn the rules, understand the limitations, and often let the fear of being “wrong” or “silly” stifle unconventional thoughts. Sarah’s strawberry gum adventure is a reminder of the unique, sometimes hilariously misguided, brilliance of a child’s unfettered mind. It’s a testament to a time when the world seemed vast and full of undiscovered possibilities, even if those possibilities included candy growing on suburban park bushes.
So the next time you recall one of your own childhood “master plans” that went hilariously awry – maybe you tried to repaint the dog, or build a spaceship from cardboard boxes destined for Mars, or indeed, searched high and low for a gum tree – smile. It wasn’t stupidity; it was innocence, curiosity, and the glorious, unpredictable logic of being small in a big, bewildering world. That little innovator is still part of you. Maybe we could all use a tiny bit more of that “terrible” childhood logic sometimes.
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