A Story of Forgiving Ho-Hos

Growing up, there was a Hostess store—something that now feels distinctly from another era—on the drive that led from my home to my grandmother's. I have fond memories of stopping at the Hostess store and, if I close my eyes, I can still picture its layout, the rows of Wonder Bread, the individually wrapped cupcakes, the variety of fruit pies—apple, cherry, lemon. 

The best thing was when my brothers and I were allowed to pick a treat. While I often went for the HoneyBun (not iced) and reveled in slowly unraveling each spiral, I also loved the classic Ho-Ho and her swirly mix of chocolate deliciousness. 

One night, after a visit with Grandma, a trip to the Hostess store, and a single Ho-Ho, I threw up in the upstairs bathroom, wretching and heaving and gripping the toilet seat with all the strength of an elementary schooler. 

Never again, I thought as I wiped the tears from my eyeglasses. I'm never eating Ho-Hos again. 

Of course, it probably wasn't just the Ho-Ho. It was probably a combination of things—maybe something else I'd eaten or a combination of a sugar overload. Maybe it was just a 24-hour stomach bug or a bit of delayed carsickness. 

In any case, at my single-digit age, I was convinced it was the Ho-Ho and I remember feeling utterly betrayed at the development. 

I didn't eat Ho-Hos for years. 

Until one day, I did. I had a Ho-Ho and I didn't get sick and it was awesome. 

Now obviously, it's been ages since I've had a Ho-Ho (though if anyone knows a company making a vegan version hit me up). And despite having had many good Ho-Ho eating years between the incident and going vegan, I still associate Ho-Hos with that night.

And how funny, right? To lose all positive Ho-Ho memories, all the occasions Ho-Hos made me happy, all the Hostess Store stops, all the good times, because of one bad Ho-Ho (that again, may or may not even be the Ho-Hos fault!)

If there is something in your life you've written off because of one bad experience, I wonder what it would be like to give it another chance. If there's something you swore you'd never do again because the first time you tried it you failed. Or because you felt embarrassed. Or because it wasn't perfect or didn't go exactly how you planned...

Okay. 

That's fair. 

But what if you tried again?

The first time I had a Ho-Ho again, I realized my mom was right. I'm not going to get sick every time I eat a Ho-Ho! And then, I realized I'd missed out on many Ho-Hos because of it. 

So now, I let Ho-Hos serve as a reminder to give things another chance. A reminder that our tastes and our skills (and our stomachs) can grow and expand and become stronger and more resilient. That we might find out—on the second go around—that we've actually been missing out on something really special. We might find out that we can do more than we dreamed.