Oatmeal for Breakfast

First day of school & it’s not even August. Anyway, it reminds me of this story:

It's Monday  Sometimes a lesson taught is not easily swallowed. Getting ready for school one day my sister and I waited for breakfast and Mother dished up hot oatmeal. My sister ate hers and I played with mine, swimming in milk. Mother could see that we would be late for school if I dabbled too long at the table, so she dismissed us to brush our teeth and head out the door. But before leaving she told me that the oatmeal would be waiting for me after school.

While at school I gave it no further thought. Arriving home I found that Mother was serious. The oatmeal on the table was now cold. Mother told me to eat it all, which I did. Because of that experience, oatmeal was not my choice of breakfast fare. That is, until one morning when I again faced oatmeal and I had no choice but to eat it.

During high school I had some special babysitting customers. One family always booked me for New Year’s Eve and I would spend the night. That particular New Year’s morning the mother prepared oatmeal for her children and called us all to the table. Not wanting to either refuse breakfast or be a bad example, I ate oatmeal with the children. Surprisingly I liked it, but all doctored up as was offered – butter, brown sugar, and a little bit of milk. Today oatmeal is a favorite dish, especially on cold mornings. The lesson – to eat what’s put in front of me – stuck not only in my mind but in my stomach. I could finally say, “Yum.”

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I love the Lord. To those I love I am wife, mother, granny, great-granny. To my corner of the world I am a writer.

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