Dad the Cereal Killer

Want to know a perk of being an adult?

Sugary cereal.

Growing up we rarely, if ever, got to partake in the calorie-packed goodness of those breakfast items that danced across our television screens on Sunday morning. Oh, how those of us deprived of such pleasures would yearn for those Holiest of morning Grails, those hidden treasures that would constantly torture us with silly rabbits and leprechauns and cuckoo birds, singing their siren songs, beckoning us to taste, as we sat fixated on that magical box of brain-rotting ecstasy with its three channels and occasional static.

Of course it seemed as though none of our friends had to suffer this amount of injustice as they consumed mass quantities of Cookie Crisp and Count Chocula, while pointing and laughing at those of us not fortunate enough to destroy our tooth enamel before lunchtime. No, in our home it was Cheerios or Chex or perhaps Raisin Bran, or later on things like Honey Bunches of Oats. When you think about it, with the exception of the occasional box of Frosted Flakes, there were not even any recognizable cartoon characters on our cold breakfast foods.

After leaving home there were stages in life in which I am probably quite lucky to have not gone into apoplectic shock from the overconsumption of those sugary treats so long denied, to have not suffered massive organ failure from sweetness poisoning.

Then, of course, we had kids.

Soon, the begging begins, “Daddy, can we get Trix? Can we get Coco Puffs? Please, please, pleeeaaasseee?”

Being the progressive, life-affirming father I am, I respectfully reply, “I don’t know, honey, let’s take a look.”

I quickly gazed down at the nutritional information and surely my mouth dropped open and eyes bulged out in horror. “Um, honey, I don’t think this is such a good idea. How about some Cheerios? Or Chex? Or Raisin Bran?”

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