August 6, 2015
The shrieks and shrills from Nico and Christopher could be heard all the way to aisle 19. We had just turned on aisle two, the cereal aisle only 17 aisles away. Who would have thought such joy could be found at a grocery store?
"Dad, Captain Crunch? Fruit Loops, Coco Pebbles, oh my, wow!" My boys shouted as they piled the boxes in the grocery cart as if they found gold up in the hills of some California cave.
"No. Put it all back."
Ever since they first went for "a ride" to the grocery store, the boys have seen all the treats and snacks stacked along the shelving. They wanted to indulge in anything that looked good to eat. My kids must think that each trip to the grocery store was a visit to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Of course, they didn't pay any attention to the price tag on the little lips of the shelves right below the food items.
"Who do you think I am? Willy Wonka," I scoffed.
"Who's Willy Wonka, Dad," Christopher asked.
Okay, scratch that, Willy Wonka. Let's say the boys were in fantasyland.
"Christopher, Willy Wonka, had an everlasting supply of candy and treats. Think of him as a guy giving out candy on Halloween, but every day."
"Oh, well, trick or treat," he said as he placed a box of Pop-Tarts in the cart.
The boys scurried off, laughing; my threat of no treats was being taken as seriously as the threat of "no ice cream" if they didn't finish their dinner the night before.
I continued my stroll through the store, looking for the healthiest items or the labels that I seem to always identify with and gravitate towards to purchase, either because it was a childhood favorite or just an indoctrinated item that I have seen over and over after countless hours of watching the television in my lifetime.
"Hey daddy," I heard. The shouts were coming from the meat area.
“Hey daddy, dadddddy!”
I looked around for my son. His calls for me sound like a cattle call that instantly grabs my attention.
"What? What?" I yelled.
"More, Daddy," Nico said.
"More what?" I shouted.
I scanned the aisles and passed the people who were either tuning out my shouts to my child or were just so focused on their own grocery list that they were oblivious to me.
"Nico, more what?" I shouted.
I turned down the chips aisle and caught Nico in mid-wipe of his hands on his shirt. Red dye from the cheese puffs stained his hands and mouth. Crumbs of orange-looking fireballs littered the front of his body. He was in mid-chew when he turned to me and dropped the 2nd open bag.
I could barely understand what he said through the muffled voice of cheese puffs and saliva.
"More, Dad, come on," he said.
"Put the bags in the cart, now," I said in a low tone. "Where is your brother?"
"Dad!" Christopher shrieked.
He repeatedly called me, "Dad, Dad, Dad," until I found him standing in the ice cream aisle. The door was open. A box of ice cream sandwiches was wedged between the door's crack and inside shelves. There was a partially open wrapper between his feet. He held his hands on top of his head. His little cheeks were red, and he looked to be in a little bit of pain.
"Brain freeze, huh," I said.
"Ouch, Daddy, I ate it too fast."
"Grab the box, let's go. It's time for us to head out of here."
Christopher placed the box in the basket. I wasn't nearly done, but I had enough food to survive the next few days. As I headed towards the register, I realized I had forgotten something for myself.
"Excuse, sir," I said to an employee as he rushed by carrying a mop and a bucket. No doubt he was cleaning up something my boys did.
"How can I help you, Dad," he said.
I was busted and known. My kid's constant calling had made me a celebrity.
"I've been on every aisle but not the wine aisle. Can you point me in the right direction?"
"Aisle, 20," sir.
"Thanks, you're my Willy Wonka, I said."
He smiled and walked away.
714 words
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