Read this: Make breakfast gr-r-reat again
BURTON W. COLE, Editor
By Burton W. Cole
Ignoring others at the breakfast table didn’t begin with smartphones. My brothers and I grew up ignoring each other by reading the back of cereal boxes.
“Ignore” might be too strong of a word. If Timmy finished reading the back of his cereal box before Danny or I were finished with ours, he groused at us to hurry up so that we could trade.
“In a minute,” I’d snap. “I’m trying to figure out what riboflavin is.”
“Mom, Burton’s done reading the comics on the back of the box. He’s reading the labels on the side. Make him stop.”
“Is thiamin mononitrate that stuff that turned the cute little lizard into a giant dragon in that movie last night?”
“Mom!”
Cellphones have eliminated all that morning fuss. Now entire families sit around the breakfast table, munching on maltodextrin, sodium ascorbate, pyridoxine hydrochloride and natural flavor without tasting a thing while scrolling through their screens.
Reaching for a refill while scrolling means that sometimes the cellphone captive pours Miracle Gro plant food, Tide soap flakes or crunchy Legos into his cereal bowl, but he won’t notice what he’s chewing because he’s spellbound by the latest cat video on TikTok.
But we, as a nation of grumpy morning people (at least before coffee), have been great at ignoring our surroundings and each other long before cellphones.
But it’s not all bad. At least the backs of cereal boxes improved our reading scores.
Mornings used to begin with helping Tony the Tiger hack his way through a jungle maze, solving word clues to sail Cap’n Crunch past the trap set by that nefarious pirate Jean LaFoote, and hopping game board spaces to dig up Lucky Leprechaun’s hidden chest of gold. I’ve even found Waldo by many a dawning sun.
We soaked up the comics, trivia, games and puzzles on the backs of cereal boxes with an intensity our teachers only dreamed about. All of it was printed in glorious color.
I devoured every word over big bowls of sugar-frosted goodness drenched in whole milk that came straight from our barn. Back then, this was considered the height of healthiness.
Then, through no fault of my own, grew up, and worse, became a senior citizen. According to health experts, seniors aren’t allowed to have fun. No Reese’s Puffs, no Apple Jacks nor any Super Sugar… er, Super Golden Crisps.
In fact, a fleet of dour health experts have been recommending oatmeal over sweetened (sugar) cereals for everyone, causing literacy scores to plummet.
These days, my body rebels against a diet of Froot Loops, Alpha-Bits and Honey Smacks. I’ve reached that certain age — the oatmeal age.
My reading skills have diminished ever since. My late wife bought oatmeal in bulk, in big, clear plastic bags. There are only so many times you can read the words “net weight.”
I suppose I could play connect-the-dots with the puckers on the plastic bags. Maybe use the twist tie bag fasteners to create little elephants or race cars, and pretend they were the free prize inside.
But I need something fun to read over breakfast. I say it’s time to take back our literature.
We people of a certain age must demand our own set of comic characters on the backs of bulk bags. We could have the adventures of La-Z-Boy Louis. Wheelie Walker Willie. Hey-You-Kids-Get-Off-My-Lawn Morton.
There could be games, like Match the Socks and Find the Reading Glasses.
And the oatmeal bags could come with free medical or nutritional dictionaries inside so we could finally find out what thiamin, riboflavin and niacin actually are.
After we slurp that last oat from the bottom of the bowl, we can smooth out the back of the bag, smile, and roar along with Tony the Senior, “We’ve made breakfast gr-r-r-ray-haired gr-r-r-r-eat again!”
Discuss issues of a certain age with Burt at news@falmouthoutlook.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.