When I was a child, my mother always tried to ensure we had healthy foods to eat. Breakfast usually consisted of oatmeal or cereals, such as Cheerios, Grape Nuts, Raisin Bran and the like. Every now and then, Mom had a coupon for sugary cereals that we could have as a treat. My sister, Lori, and I could only eat those once the opened box of more healthy cereal was empty.
On one occasion when I was about 5 years old, we had just opened a gigantic, family-sized box of Cheerios the day before my mother purchased a tiny box of Frosted Flakes. That blue box with a smiling Tony the Tiger telling me how great they were, taunted me.
I couldn’t resist the temptation. So, I devised a plan with 7-year-old Lori.
“If you go outside and dump the Cheerios behind the big oak tree, we can tell Mom we ate them and have Frosted Flakes tomorrow,” I said.
Lori’s eyes widened. She agreed it was a great idea. My 5-year old brain thought it made sense. Mom worked 3:30 p.m. to midnight. We got up each morning and made our own breakfast and got ready for school before waking up Mom, who made sure we got to school on time. She couldn’t possibly remember when she bought the Cheerios.
I helped Lori to quietly unlock the front door. She gingerly walked down the normally squeaky front steps and headed toward the massive oak tree in the side yard.
Even as an adult, the tree is huge. Four adults are required to encircle it with arms stretched out. Its lowest branches were at least 20 feet high. I never could climb it, but there was a nice niche facing the back yard where I could sit and read or play with my matchbox cars. That niche could also easily hold a family-sized box of Cheerios.
Our plan required us to remember to put the Cheerios in the garbage after school and after Mom left for work. We lived next door to my grandmother and Gram often let us play in our yard after we finished our homework. At five and seven, this plan was perfect.
Once Lori was off the porch, I quickly closed the front door and ran upstairs to wake my mother. Her room was dark, pitch black. I couldn’t reach the lights, but I knew the layout of her room. I scurried over to her side of the bed and shook her.
“Mom! Mom!” I yelled as I shook her as violently as my little body could.
She moved. I assumed her eyes were open, but I couldn’t really tell. I spoke to the darkness. “Mom. Wake up.”
“What’s wrong?” The concern in her voice was evident. You don’t wake up Mom unless there is something terribly wrong.
“Lori’s throwing out the Cheerios,” I said.
“What?” she responded.
“In the side yard,” I replied. “Look.” I pointed toward the window as if anyone could see in the darkened room.
Mom jumped out of bed and went to her window. Pulling back the black curtains, the sun blasted our retinas and I looked away. Mom had a clear view of the oak tree. There stood Lori in her pajamas, shaking the box of Cheerios onto the ground.
I know my mother said something, but I don’t know what language it was. I made sure I wasn’t in her path as she stormed down the stairs and went outside. I stayed and watched from the window. Staying away from my mother while my sister was in trouble would serve me well in the years to come. I never suffered from collateral damage.
My sister was in trouble. I assumed she’d get a spanking. I watched her pick up every single Cheerios and place them back into the box. I thought it was to throw them away, to not attract ants. My mother led my sister back into the house by the ear. Whenever Mom grabbed your ear, you weren’t seeing daylight or doing anything for a long time. When they returned inside, I heard my mother angrily say, “And you will eat every last one of them.”
I don’t know why my sister didn’t rat me out.
The next morning at breakfast, my mother was there. Lori poured herself a bowl of Cheerios and covered them in milk. I could see bits of dirt in her bowl. A dead ant floated around the bowl each time her spoon disturbed the liquid. It was one of those large, black ants that you can hear squish under your shoes. She eventually ate it.
My sister crunched on a small pebble hidden under all that milk as I sat across the table eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes.