Kathryn Matheson – Why Cereal Matters

In 1944, the manufacturers of Grape Nuts launched a campaign to fill our mouths with bran. 
Across the nation pamphlets were placed in the hands of mothers rushing by, with banana 
bread and the cold brain of ground meat. “The most important meal of the day.” We all want to 
do our best. 

Rows of cereal boxes, reminding me of dominoes, fill the grocery store aisles: flakes, pebbles, 
crunchy clusters, squares, puffs. I don’t like to be cynical. But I think the Brits have it better: 
Weetabix seems a pretty perfect name. After all, I’m more of a glass fully filled type of girl. 

Here is chronological list of cereals I have loved and lost: oatmeal, raisin bran, cheerios, 
cinnamon toast crunch, Rice Crispies. There is something about ice milk in the bowl. Cereal 
matters because it is good for the first three minutes. Meaning, enjoy what you have while you 
have it. Or as my grandmother would say, take the cookie when it is passed. I am very thirsty 
now. 

My grandfather swirls the oatmeal with syrup, standing in his suit at the dappled counter. My 
raisin bran is poured by my dad, winking as he reads me the New York Post. My cheerios are 
presented to me by my mother, with strawberries sliced symmetrically amongst the rings, so 
cold they scrape the roof of my mouth. The cinnamon toast crunch is by my own hand, an act of 
rebellion.  As with the Rice Crispies, most cherished, pop rocks against my cheek. We don’t 
always make the best decisions at 15. 

I don’t eat cereal anymore because sometimes it is hard to take the time to do things for 
yourself. I stopped eating breakfast long, long ago. 

I wish I could tell you I get to feed my younger brother cereal. But Tom won’t eat it. Gets his 
stubborn streak from my younger sister. I am far more pliable. I buy him any pair of shoes he 
wants, instead: Nikes, Adidas, Vans, Pumas. It’s important to make sure his feet always look 
cool. 

There are many ways to nurture an animal. It’s hard to choose. Mother birds churn the food 
themselves and spout it, water hose, into the open mouths of their young. My grandmother 
always, always peeled my apples. 

I eat the skin now. The little bits that get stuck in my teeth are sometimes hard to bear.

author bio: Kathryn Matheson first book “Cold Strawberries” was published by D.C.’s Politics & Prose in 2014. She remembers writing her first poem at 13 and has been spent every spare moment since then breathing, writing and reading poetry. Matheson, now 25, lives and works in New York City. Her recent poems have been featured in HASH Journal. She is in the process of writing her second book.