Breakfast of Champions (11) – I was Mom’s favorite. Of this I had no doubt.

She treated me so much better than all of my siblings. Why else would I get the tastiest birthday cake, the best presents, and always get to sit next to her when the family watched The Wizard of Oz? Of course, some of my younger brothers and sisters were delusional and insisted that they were actually Mom’s golden child. I knew differently. Or at least, I thought I did. 

On a balmy summer morning, I opened my sleepy eyes thanks to a faint breeze that wafted through my open screened window. I rolled over and looked around the room that I shared with my two older brothers. Paul’s bed was empty, and not surprisingly, was partially covered by a rumpled sheet and blanket. Just as unsurprisingly, John’s bed was neatly made. They were both up and already gone; John was undoubtedly working hard at his morning chores, and Paul was working just as hard to avoid his. 

I had no interest in even thinking about my chores. That was something to worry about later. My first thought was about what I should have for breakfast. Since there was no school to worry about, there was also no hot breakfast being offered. That was a luxury that Mom only supplied from September through early June. No, today I was on my own, and the choices were few. 

Summertime meant dry cereal and cold milk. Norman liked to brag about being able to choose between Cap’n Crunch, Frosted Flakes, and Fruit Loops. It was becoming apparent to me that small-family Jewish kids got the best of everything, while large-family Catholics got whatever was cheap. Although this probably had more to do with the number of mouths Mom had to feed and less with which testament we thought more important.

My selections included Grand Union’s version of Cheerios, Corn Flakes, or Fruit Rings (a poor imitation of the Kellogg’s variety). Dad’s favorite was Wheaties, a tasteless, cardboard-like cereal made strictly for adults. The very thought of it made me dread growing up and having to eat them. Hopefully, the law would change by then. Dad would add bananas, no matter their condition.

If there were too many left and turning black, he’d enthusiastically announce that once again it was “banana day.” A day on which it became your Catholic duty to choke down one of those slimy mutations, so as not to waste food which would of course be a sin. I lay motionless in my bed, contemplating my choices, and suddenly had a great idea. POTATO CHIPS! 

My room was on the second floor with a single rear window looking out over a gray shingled roof. Although potato chips were obviously a marvelous idea, even her favorite child doubted that Mom would agree. I needed to devise an ingenious plan, and being an ingenious 11-year-old, it took me no time to put such a plan together.

Since I slept in my underwear in the summer, it’d take me hardly any time to get ready. My clothes were in the drawers built directly into the wall, which was supposed to save floor space. These were the same drawers from which, only a few years earlier, I’d remove my clothes to refold. At the time, for some reason, I didn’t think Mom was up to the task. Thankfully, I grew out of that phase.

I pulled open a drawer, found my shorts and socks, and then scanned the floor. Where were my Keds? If I left them downstairs somewhere, they might be in the “Idiot Box,” a big wooden container at the bottom of the cellar stairs. This was where Mom dumped all our stuff when we didn’t put it away. I peered under my bed and breathed a sigh of relief. There they were. 

The window was just above my bed, and I quickly removed the screen. I hopped onto the floor, holding it at each end, before leaning it against the closest wall. Then, I jumped back up. With one leg still on the bed, I swung the other through the open window and onto the roof. I lifted my back leg through the window and stood up. I could see the Steinbergs’ backyard to the right in the distance.

I tiptoed across to the roof’s edge and looked down at the shed below, attached to the house. It was about a six-foot drop to the shed’s roof and was no problem for a determined kid in desperate need of potato chips.  I carefully and quietly lowered myself down. It was another six-foot drop from the top of the shed to the concrete below, where I let myself down again. My perfect plan was in motion.

The only thing I couldn’t plan for was the Steinbergs' yard. As luck would have it, no one was out there, so I could cut through undetected. This was crucial, as I needed to make it to and from the candy store as quickly as possible. I jumped over the barberry bushes, across their lawn, and hopped the chain link fence onto the Metropolitan parking lot. 

I took the shortest route possible, which was behind the second office building, onto a grassy stretch that led to Saddle River Road. I sprinted to the candy store, grabbed my morning breakfast, and headed back. In a matter of minutes, I’d returned with my big, salty bag of Wise Potato Chips, the gold standard chip of the day. My mouth was watering as I approached the shed on my return trip. 

I’d planned for all contingencies, including how to get back up to my bedroom window. To get to the top of the shed, I calmly grabbed a 5-foot ladder, leaned it against the shed, and climbed up. Next, I reached down and gently pulled the ladder up beside me. I then leaned it again, this time against the house, and ascended to the dining room roof. I was mere moments from the best breakfast ever.

I crept across the roof, got to the open window, and began to back my way into the room. I could feel one foot land on the bed, as I carefully clutched the potato chips in my right hand. Then, the other foot landed as I turned in triumph, now facing the room where I’d be enjoying my breakfast. Except, I was also facing Mom.

She was standing with her hands on her hips, staring straight through me. I said nothing. She said nothing. She then put out her hand. I knew exactly what she wanted from her formerly favorite child. I slowly reached out the bag and handed it over.

I did not have potato chips for breakfast that day.