The black jelly bean is one of my favorites. It tastes like licorice, usually.

I would go through the bag of jellybeans and pick out the black ones. And the green ones, and the yellow and orange ones. You can keep the rest. You see, I hate most artificial fruit flavors except for citrus. But that's another problem of mine.

(a symbolic journey through the realm of a woman at 4:56 am) In past ages of my existance I felt like the black jelly bean of the world. The jelly bean few paid attention to, and which many expressed disgust toward. The colour of my mood was black, the color of my clothes were black (well, still are for the most part), the color of my cat was black (and still is, he's my little black lovable jelly bean)...

but I digress..

Similar to the black sheep scenario, but more painful in youth due to the strong feelings people have regarding this enigmatic bean not always found anymore in bags of jelly beans, the very misunderstood candy...

The black jelly bean in my opinion is the best, licorice delish, powerful magnetic force of taste... an explosion...

I now thrive in being the black jelly bean, and I encourage those who have not had them since youth to try it again.
From Peanuts, Charles Schulz 1955

Lucy: You know why that big black bug doesn't move? Because she's the queen bug! She just sits there, see, while the other bugs do all the work.

Charlie Brown: That's not a bug, that's a jelly bean.

Lucy: By golly, you're right, Charlie Brown.
I wonder how a jelly bean ever got to be queen?

I attended an Easter service this year, dragged unwillingly to a Catholic house of worship by my fiancee's parents. We were visiting their house and childhood expectations transfer from biological children to new additions to the family. I sat with a sense of bemused detachment from the service, seeing all the little differences betwixt the United Presbyterian services from my childhood memory, and the pomp and ceremony of a Roman Catholic mass. It was intriguing.

As I faked my way through the sign of the cross and kneeled and stood at the appropriate times, often transfixed on the majestic stained glass windows not far from my seat, I saw a fresh faced young nun preparing for Sunday School. Seeing as it was Easter, small treats for the children waited. I felt that it was kind of pagan for churches to give in with the chocolate bunnies and jellybeans, but to each his own. My fiancee's sister had brought her two little girls to the church and they knelt on the pew, coloring with crayons and rabble rousing. Off they went at the appropriate time, following the Asian girl in the grey habit.

The service slogged through the next few minutes, same old same old, and it came time to leave. The girls came back smiling, a Ziploc bag of jellybeans with a little poem in it clutched in their hands. I held the bag for the oldest girl as she put her shoes on the right feet. The poem listed the colors of the beans and what they stood for in relation to Easter.

Red was the blood of Christ on the cross. Yellow was the sun shining down. Green had something to do with grass. All cute and cuddly. I read down the paper to black and I smiled a crooked smile. An in joke? A nun with a sense of humor?

Black is the color of sin, which Jesus died for. That's why the black jelly bean is not sweet like the others.

Don't say a didn't warn you.

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