Cheerios with Daddy

Had a nice breakfast conversation with my Daughter, Vivian (8 months old and getting bigger and wiser by the hour), early this morning. Granted, it was a little one-sided, but still a very profound and fulfilling dialog, especially at that time of day, when I'm mostly a groggy mess.

Little Vivian was sitting in her high chair, sharing her precious Cheerios, which were spread out all before her on the tray, with her Papa. Nom-nom-nom, so good. Picking them up with her tiny fingers, one by one, and using an advanced navigation technique to guide them home for her 2 chompers, she playfully cooed and squealed with delight.

It brought back some cherished memories, so I started to reminisce with her about my childhood mornings, many moons ago, when I used to savor my bowl of Cheerios. Sitting at the kitchen table with the box in front of me, reading and re-reading the nutritional chart and its percentages of goodness I was slurping down.

But, most of the time, especially on Saturday mornings, I ate my bowl of Cheerios downstairs in front of the TV, so I could watch cartoons. And Saturdays were special. You see, they would have a non-stop barrage of cartoons on, from 7 am through noon. They would be on, not only 1 channel, not 2 channels, but THREE! 3 channels of constant cartoons. Oh my God!

And not these fancy, 3-D, digital cartoons that they have these days, but the classic Hanna Barbera (Scooby-Doo, Flintstones, Jabbajaw, Speed Buggy, Johnny Quest, Herculoids, Captain Caveman, etc..), Super Friends, Bugs & friends, Speed Racer, Thundar the Barbarian, and Voltron. The good stuff (I didn't watch those girly cartoons. No Care Bears for me, thank you very much).

But, there was one problem.

In order for me to watch these cartoons, I had to first venture down the steps, into the basement, completely in the dark. I know, I know, crazy. Cause all kids know, besides the bedroom closet, that's where the monsters reside. That's where they wait for unattended kids to recklessly venture before they frightfully reveal themselves. Down the basement. In the dark. The nearest light source was a lamp you had to click on, but that was down there. Down in the dark, amongst the monsters, where they patiently waited, and I could hear them breathing.

My solution to this problem: sing. I guess I watched too many Disney shows or something, but the idea had logically been formed in my mind, that if you were joyfully singing, then the monsters couldn't attack you. Something about the purity of the act that repelled the monsters, I don't know. But, dog gone it, it worked.

Vivian was listening to me the whole time.

When we left the kitchen to go find Mommy, she was singing.

James