Buttered Cheerios

The fuzzy blue reading corner rug lay flat beneath my tiny body as I sat staring intently at the rectangular black pan atop the electronic burner as my nursery teacher heated it. My entire class sat in a semi-circle, quieter than we’d probably ever been before.

Mesmerized by the glossy, bubbly butter melting, my stomach growled with excitement. My best friend sat next to me, squeezing my hand, indicating that she, too, couldn’t wait.

Today was the day that we tried buttered cheerios for the first time.

The room was filled with the chitter chatter of why’s and how’s and what’s that’s that our teacher fielded with ease, making every student feel like their question was important. She handed the small boy who was closest to her a stack of dixie cups. The ones with the thick wax coating that you could dig deep into with your fingernails to make designs. She told him to take one and pass. A concept that for 4-year old’s was a bit too complex.

She poured the cheerios into the sizzling butter and we all “oohed” and “aahed”in awe as they slowly started to turn golden brown. The smell of warm butter filled our small classroom almost immediately. I may not have known it at the time, but that was a smell that I would come to love.

She smiled at us, knowing we were about to taste something delicious. She took each one of our cups (if they hadn’t been destroyed as a result our excitement and inability to focus) and scooped up the crispy, buttery cheerios into them, handing them to us one by one. The room roared with “Me, me me” and “No, I’m next,” until suddenly, it was absolutely silent. Other than the sound of the crunch of the cheerios between our baby teeth.

Whenever I tell someone about this coveted snack of my childhood, they almost always make the same face. The one where you scrunch up your forehead and nose, almost wincing with disgust.

Despite the fact that others find the snack unappealing, I still get cravings for buttered cheerios every once in a while. And I make them. But they’re not the same. It must be something about the warmth and joy that filled that classroom. Whether it was the most wonderful teacher, a room full of friendly faces or the sheer novelty of eating crispy, salty, buttery cheerios out of a tiny dixie cup, I may never know. What I do know is that I will never forget what these buttered cheerios tasted the first time that I ever ate them.