THE PANSIES OF LATCHKEY TOWNSHIP

A guest post by Jasper Joyner

Hi Readers and Friends,

Before I begin today’s post, I want to let you know that my Etsy and Society6 shops have been updated with new art and books.

Now, on with the show…

I subscribed to Jasper Joyner’s Substack immediately after reading the wonderful essay they had written for Oldster Magazine. In no time, I found myself reaching out to them to see if, by perfect miracle or chance, they had also been a latchkey kid like myself and if they would consider writing an essay for Latchkey Township. To my delight, Jasper said yes, and through our correspondence, we discovered a mutual childhood love of those staggeringly delicious discs of heaven known as honey buns.

I didn’t grow up in a honey bun house, but oh, boy, did I hit the jackpot when I met Stacy Ross. Her mother mostly worked from home for Giggles, a children’s clothing and stationery store in my family’s hometown, Clarks Summit, PA. (Side note: I recently read a history book about the town and found a paragraph describing my great-grandfather Bunnell as a “colorful character” who liked to clear the main street of traffic in order to conduct horse races for cheering onlookers.)

Stacy Ross’ mom did not race horses, but she did craft barrette dolls with long yarn braids on which one could organize a collection of braided ribbon barrettes. She also made terrycloth headbands so the kids in our school could look like Olivia Newton-John. Mrs. Ross ensured that there was not only a pantry filled with brand-name snacks but also a backup freezer filled with, you guessed it, stacks of honey buns. Stacy and I would help ourselves to the family’s military-like stockpile of honey buns and then race down to her finished basement, which had, to my initial disbelief and amazement, TWO SETS OF GYMNASTIC RINGS suspended from the ceiling. We would fly through the air, touch our stockinged feet together in the middle of the room, and choreograph mid-air dance routines filled with the folly and fuel Little Debbie had dispensed upon us.

Knowing our shared passion for this particular luxurious foodstuff, Jasper decided that an essay about honey buns would be the perfect key to unlocking access to Latchkey Township. Their honey bun obsession found them testing the limits of their freedom while their parents were not home, and this essay highlights the early stages of their preteen rebellion, slowly learning where those limits began and ended. I invite you to read their fantastic essay below.

<3 Jacinta

(Too) Sweet

by Jasper Joyner

It is quite strange, indeed, to have been raised vegan in the South—in Memphis, no less—in the 90s and early aughts. But I was, so instead of classic barbecue and soppy Dyer’s burgers fried in 100-year-old grease, I grew up on homemade seitan and soy-based “chicken” nuggets. Our desserts included fruit strips and this dish called “healthy chunky,” my mom’s creation made with carob, not chocolate. You know, the youth rarely request these dishes when aware of other treats. 

Of course, I didn’t know. It was not until my late preteens that my parents gave up the whole vegan shtick for many reasons—perhaps the main reason being access to a much more accessible whole foods, poultry, and fish diet. With a diet like this, you can find your ingredients not just at health food stores but also at typical, fascinatingly giant stores like Walmart. This was a new world for my friends and me, and I was ready to scavenge like an explorer. I expressly remember delving into the aisles with a bug-eyed enchantment at a recently out-of-reach delicacy: Little Debbie Honey Buns.

I’m not sure what got me first. That gorgeous, slightly hidden, cinnamon swirl under a thick creamy glaze? The curly “y” at the end of “honey” implying adventure for all who partook? All I know is that I had to have them, and I somehow convinced my mom to allow me to try them. I plopped a box into our shopping cart.

Jasper, age 8

I don’t know if you remember biting into a Little Debbie Honey Bun for the first time. But I do. I had my first bite after lunch one Saturday. “Just one,” Ma maintained.

But come Monday after school, she would be away at her new job instructing other salespeople how to tout life insurance successfully. I would be left to my own devices. I would ride the bus home with my little sister. My other two siblings wouldn’t trickle in until later due to various extracurriculars, so…I had a plan. Before my mom came home, I would sneak as many glazed goodies as possible. My sister would be doing homework or watching TV and didn’t care as much about these treats as I did. These were my edible adventures, my good time to give way to. Still, I tiptoed to the pantry closet as if someone was on my case. I grabbed one and ripped it from its packaging like a raccoon in the night. I might have accidentally bit into the plastic if my memory serves me. Didn’t care, …what ecstasy. I had to have another …and another …and another, and somehow, in just a few minutes, I found myself returning to the pantry for the next box. More glaze. More pastry. More yumminess.

My stomach churned.

I kept on…until every single honey bun was gone. Every single one. I crushed the box and opened our cabinet reserved for old plastic bags. I stuffed each box into a bag, buzzed out to our front yard like a bee with sugar-fueled energy, and discarded all the evidence in our large garbage container. Then, almost shaking with excitement, I found my pogo stick, newly inspired to bounce like a basketball. Jitters and fidgets overtook my body, and the honey buns' sweet taste lingered.

I wanted more. 

I once again requested my new obsession during our grocery run the following week."What about the box we have at home?” my mom asked.

“I think those are gone,” I said—a minor white lie with the slightest omission. In dropped one more box. Amazing. Wonderful. Fantastic.

Come Monday night, all were gone once again. And so on and so on, it continued for weeks. I couldn’t believe that no one noticed I was the only one devouring this deliciousness. How lucky for me that I seemed to be the only one bewitched. And I felt this tradition might continue forever. Until one week…

It began like all others. One box in the cart, one box in our cabinet. Monday afternoon after school, there I went. Starting with one bite, then two, so sure I would take another, but something happened. Hmmm. Sure, a stomachache was inevitable each time I had upwards of ten in one sitting, but this felt different, almost like a stomach virus worth of aches. Oh no. And the taste! Not at all as delicious as I remembered. Something had transformed my insides.

And then the door. Oh no. I had forgotten my mom would arrive early that day, and I hurt too much to discard my evidence. The back door creaked open. Oh no, oh no, oh no. That look. There she was, my mom, giving me that look—the one that says more than any words can. Disapproval mixed with shock, but mostly disappointment, and then an unexpected shift into a smile and suddenly a big, big laugh as she said, “Now you know!” 

I did know. I really did. I had snuck honey buns for so long, and here I was, not only getting caught but feeling horrible about it. And I am sure she could see on my now sweaty, sickly face that I had, indeed, learned my lesson. Nothing more needed to be said. This would be my last foray into Little Debbie Honey Buns. Couldn’t find a taste for them ever again, as if I’d had enough to last a lifetime. But I must say, I don’t regret one single solitary bite.

Jasper, age 12, and their family at a bakery

Jasper Joyner is a Memphis-based author, humorist, poet, and editor. Their work has been featured in The Offing, Oldster Mag, Huffington Post, Bitch Magazine, the anthology OUTSIDE THE XY, and many other places. Jasper runs two awesome newsletters—one self-titled, hoping to bring biweekly whimsy to people's inboxes, and the other called HERE TO COMPLAIN, where annoyed black and brown folks share their micro-aggressive work stories.

Jasper's chapbook, A FLAMBOYANCE, is published by Bottlecap Press, and their YA novel is JUNIPER LEAVES. Jasper’s new book, Pansy, just came out, and I can’t wait to read it. Publishers Weekly called it “a captivating ode to the constant work of becoming—and understanding—oneself.”

Thank you, as always, for reading. It feels like a warm hug to know you are here.

xo, Jacinta