Why I Was Friends With Harlan Ellison
He was a tough, brilliant Jewish working class kid with all the talent in the universe
When I was in kindergarten I was forbidden a special treat other kids took for granted: Dubble Bubble.
I wanted bubble gum so badly but there wasn’t any in my house and I wasn’t likely to get any by begging at the store the way I saw other kids do..
So shopping with my grandmother, I spotted a small basket filled with bright yellow wrapped balls of sugary pink chewy goodness.
Part of me knew they weren’t “free” but I was five and I had hope. Out snuck my small hand. Into my pocket went the gum.
My grandmother with her all-seeing eyes spotted it immediately.
“What’s in your pocket?”
“Nuh-nuthing.” Great — just add lying to stealing — said my conscience.
“Show me.” She put her hand out and gestured. Gimme the contraband.
“I — I — uh… I…”
My conscience spoke. Just give her the gum you big dummy. So I handed it to her.
“You took that gum,” my grandmother said in her iciest voice.
“It was in the basket,” I peeped.
