The summer of 1998 tasted like dusty asphalt and Blue Raspberry. For Leo and his younger brother, Toby, the ultimate status symbol wasn’t a bicycle or a video game; it was the translucent, plastic cylinder of a Push Pop.

"Trade ya," Leo said. "I’ve been wanting to try the battery flavor anyway."

Leo always went for the classic Strawberry. He liked the efficiency of it—the way you could cap it, clip it to your pocket like a high-tech gadget, and save it for later. Toby, however, was a rebel. He hunted for the "Triple Tower" or the "Spring-Loaded" varieties, his eyes wide as he scanned the candy aisle.

Leo pushed his Strawberry cylinder up, the bright red sugar gem catching the sunlight. He took a satisfied lick. Toby unsealed the Mystery. It was a swirling, neon purple and green. He took a brave bite. His face contorted. His eyes watered. "Is it... sour?" Leo asked.

Toby’s face lit up, and he eagerly swapped. Leo spent the walk home nursing the most sour, metallic candy he’d ever tasted, his tongue turning a suspicious shade of charcoal. But as he watched Toby happily clicking the Strawberry cap on and off, Leo decided it was the best five dollars he’d ever spent. Why Push Pops Are the Ultimate Nostalgia Trip

Every Saturday, their grandfather would hand them each a single, crinkly five-dollar bill. It was their "adventure fund," meant for the corner store at the edge of the neighborhood.

"Wait," Leo warned. "Mystery is a gamble. Remember the 'Grey Grape' incident of '96?"