Nico and Christopher (right) enjoying ice cream in the Magic Kingdom in Fantasyland
August 6, 2015
The
shrieks and shrills from Nico and Christopher could be heard all they way to
aisle 19. We had just turned on aisle two, the cereal aisle that was only 17 aisles away. Who would of
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 the first time they went for “a ride” to the grocery store and the boys saw 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 attached to 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. Lets just make say the boys were in fantasyland.
“Christopher, Willy Wonka, was a man with the everlasting
supply of candy and treats. Think of him as a guy giving out candy on
Halloween, but everyday.”
“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 to 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 past the people who are either
tuning out my shouts to my child or are just so focused on their own grocery
list that are oblivious to me.
“Nico, more what?” I shouted.
I tuned 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 crack of the door and inside shelves. There
was a partially open wrapper between his feet.
He held his 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, 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 couple of days. As I headed towards
the register I realized I forgot 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 kids 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.
https://twitter.com/FusaCmee
Nico, just being a kid.
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