When I Was A Kid They Called Me The Juicebox

Cynthia May

2 min read

·

19-01-2025

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Ah, childhood nicknames. They stick with you, sometimes for years, sometimes for life. Mine? "The Juicebox." Not exactly the coolest moniker, but it tells a story, a story about a kid with an insatiable thirst and a penchant for sugary delights.

The Origin Story

It all started in elementary school. I wasn't particularly athletic, nor was I the class clown. I wasn't known for my academic prowess, or even my artistic talent. No, my claim to fame, my legendary status among my peers, revolved around my seemingly bottomless pit of a stomach – specifically, when it came to juice boxes.

Picture this: recess time, the sun blazing down, kids running around like caffeinated squirrels. And there I was, always armed and ready, with a new juice box in hand. Orange, apple, grape – it didn't matter. One after another, they disappeared. My friends, initially amused, soon started to take notice. The whispers began: "There he goes again, with another juice box," and then, the inevitable: "The Juicebox."

More Than Just a Nickname

It wasn't just the quantity; it was the speed. I could drain a juice box faster than you could say "Hi-C." It was a skill, a talent, a bizarre form of competitive eating, limited only to the sugary confines of tetra-pak cartons. It became my identity, albeit a slightly sticky one.

The nickname wasn't always positive. There were teasing moments, of course. But it was also a source of amusement, a shared joke, a quirky part of my childhood tapestry. It forged a kind of camaraderie, a unique bond with the kids who witnessed my juice-box-fueled feats.

Looking Back

Now, years later, the nickname brings a smile to my face. It's a reminder of a simpler time, a time of scraped knees, playground adventures, and a never-ending supply of fruit-flavored refreshment. It's a testament to a childhood filled with energy, boundless enthusiasm, and a surprisingly high tolerance for sugar.

While I've long since outgrown the juice box habit (mostly), the memory of "The Juicebox" remains – a sweet, albeit slightly sticky, part of my past. And sometimes, when I'm feeling nostalgic, I secretly crave the sugary rush of a perfectly chilled, fruity beverage. Just one, though. I've learned my limits. Mostly.