Island Boy: Future Lawyer in Action

“Island Boy eats what for breakfast?” asked an incredulous GymPal, my workout partner.

“You heard me,” I replied somewhat defensively. “Baloney sandwiches or hot dogs.  But, every once in a while we vary it with mac & cheese.”

GymPal gaped at me with open-mouthed amazement.

“You and Running Girl are the model parents.  How did you let this one slip by, Major?” he inquired, converting his open pie hole to a smug grin.

“Well, when he first came home from Haiti, he needed protein.  We started with eggs in the morning.”  I then added somewhat sheepishly: ” Obviously, somewhere along the way we got a little off track.”

Ever the smart-ass, GymPal asked, “What do you serve him to drink at breakfast? Grape soda?”

I turned beet red.  What could I say?  I had obviously dropped the ball on this one.

You know, it’s true what they say — with your first one, you forbid anything processed or junk-like from passing your precious treasure’s lips.  By the third child, you apparently feed them mystery meat for breakfast.

I put my shame to work. 

No more crappy processed food for my special guy.  I will endeavor to provide nutritious yet tasty breakfasts and dinners. 

This was my oath to the cosmos: You have allowed me to raise this child.  I owe him better.


Here we are a few weeks later.  Island Boy has left ‘crap-food island’ cold turkey.  Breakfasts now feature oatmeal, healthy fiber-laden cereals, or hearty flax seed pancakes.

This morning, IB came down demanding a forbidden breakfast item.

“Can I have a baloney sandwich?”

“No, Island Boy,” I stated firmly.  “No baloney for breakfast.”

“Can I bring it to school in my lunchbox?” he asked plaintively.

Regular readers of this blog may recall that IB has used his “lunch box” in the past to mule contraband items into day care (see The Smuggler’s Blues).  Thus, I was a doubter.

But, perhaps IB’s criminal need to import illicit toys into Pre-K could be overridden by a love of salted meat forming a neat equator between two slices of healthy bread.

A known sandwich-lover myself, I just couldn’t stand in the way of a boy and his love of charcuterie.

I acquiesced.  What the hell.  It’s Friday.

I made him his sandwich.  All men are entitled to occasional guilty pleasures.

With his permission, I also included a banana and a small bag of pretzels in his lunch box.  All in all, not a bad meal.

For breakfast, IB favored me by thoughtlessly consuming a piece of buttered toast.


When we arrived at school, I checked IB’s lunch box with the thoroughness of a USCIS customs agent newly arrived on shift.  It was clean.  No forbidden materials.

Inside the classroom, Island Boy dusted by his teacher and classmates and made directly for the nearest small table and tiny chair.  Without waiting for permission, he unzipped his lunch box and whipped out his napkin with a flourish.

He cut no less a regal personage than Henry VIII himself.

As he was unwrapping his sandwich, I reminded my child that 8:00 a.m. is not customarily a luncheon hour in the Western Hemisphere.

Island Boy was undeterred by my mere annoyance of a suggestion of whiff of impropriety.

“THIS is my LUNCH.”

He used the exact tone that Shrek employed to send away that troublesome Eddie Murphy donkey.  He then took a giant bite of his sandwich.

IB’s teacher and I shrugged at each other.  “Other kids do this sometimes,” she said kindly.

Now it was my turn to gape open-mouthed.

My four-year old had out-lawyered me!

I was proud and annoyed at the same time.

“Island Boy,” his teacher intervened.  “Let me cut that in half for you.”

I knew better.  No such action was needed.

Island Boy had already ingested 2/3 of the baloney sandwich.

— The Major


One response to this post.

  1. Posted by Becky on June 10, 2011 at 8:47 pm

    I refuse to buy marshmallow multi-colored cereal for my daughters, so I pretty much let them eat whatever they want for breakfast, figuring it can’t possibly be as bad. Well, they can’t have cookies or candy. They usually go with yogurt, banana, applesauce, or toast.
    My almost-4-year old loves bologna too. Eats it straight up, though, no bread, sometimes for breakfast.

    Both girls’ favorite breakfast is cold pizza.


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