Visiting the Sins of the Parents
We. were. relentless.
For weeks — nay, months — we asked, begged, cajoled, negotiated, and pleaded. And I imagine that DadGiraffe believed there was no other choice than to grant our wish.
It was not without provisos, however. If we insisted that he bring home a cereal that he warned would be foul-tasting, we had to finish it. All of it. The entire box. It would be one of the two open boxes that were permitted at any given time. [Although, I do recall that at a certain point, perhaps after Ace was old enough to eat cereal, that there was a temporary three open-box amendment to the rule.] Should we fail to consume the entirety of the cereal in question, a sugar-cereal moratorium would go into effect. Immediately. And eternally.
You don’t need me to tell you the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey was wont to say. DadGiraffe bought Cookie Crisp and it was, in fact, vile. Just vile. And try as I might, I could not bring myself to finish the box.
I am amazed, these many years later, that I never thought to siphon off a bowl-sized amount each day. It might have saved us from the sugar-cereal hiatus that befell our home. And while it wasn’t eternal, it was several years in length. Long enough to drive home the point.
So when my own children recently asked, begged, cajoled, negotiated, and pleaded, I shared my own woeful tale. Hoping that we could avoid the mistake and associated consequence. It is the rare child who is willing to make decisions based on his or her parent’s life experience.
And that rare child is not to be found among the frummies.
I bought, they tasted.
And now they are trying to consume the vile, foul-tasted cereal in their attempt to have a different ending to their story.