Growing up in Arizona, it was the prize everyone wanted. A simple brown paper bag, with the words *Ladmo Bag* on it. A bag that elevated a kid's status on the playground. From the outside, it did not seem like much. On the inside it was a child's dream. Mounds of candy, a pass to _Legend City_ or the State Fair, and one piece of fruit. The piece of fruit was probably a peace offering to parents. One way to win a Ladmo Bag was to appear on the _Wallace &amp; Ladmo_ show. If you were in the audience, you had two chances to win. At the beginning and the end of the show. I had missed the first chance when I was an audience member. As the show was ending, it was time to hand a Ladmo Bag. The excitement grew in the audience. Wallace shouted, &quot;Row 2&quot;. This was the start of directions for Ladmo to give out a bag. That was my row, my heart raced. &quot;Seat 7&quot;, he finished. My heart sank. Even though I didn't win that day, as an adult it was a bond, a memory, that those raised in Arizona shared, not winning a Ladmo Bag. 2008-06-05T21:41:57Z http://ficlets.com/feed/story/33211 <p>It&#8217;s a nice sentimental memoir of growing up.</p> http://ficlets.com/stories/33211?basename=68311 2008-06-05T21:41:57Z thebetweenspace http://ficlets.com/authors/thebetweenspace