Fruit Islands is my Rosebud. It represents a lost childhood innocence that I shall likely never reclaim, and I have a Proustian relationship with this cereal such that as I write this, I can actually taste, ever so faintly, these Cookie Crisp-shaped pieces, hear the satisfying crunch as each “island” succumbs to the force of my clenching teeth and feel the resulting shrapnel tearing through the tender flesh along the roof of my mouth. 648 more words