Looking in the rear view mirror, I could see that my son was utterly disgusted with me.
My son James had a frown that drooped down to the floorboard of the truck. His eyes were rolled so far in the back of his head that all I could see was the whites of his eyes.
And then he let out the most depressing moan that could ever by mustered by an eight-year-old’s body.
“What is wrong with you,” I asked, coming to a stop for a train to pass.
“I just don’t know why you can’t buy me a snack at the store,” he grumbled. “I’m hungry, and you don’t even care.”
Taking a deep breath, I prayed to God to give me the patience for this one.
“I have already told you that we have snacks at home,” I replied. “I am not going to the gas station and spend a ton of money on the same stuff you already have at the house.”
“It’s not the same,” he said, sloping down in his seat. “It’s regular old apple juice at home, not Gatorade. And it’s cheddar whales from the dollar store at home, not real Goldfish.”
What a spoiled kid, I thought to myself. I was never like that.
But upon further review...I was.
I can remember a kid who lived in our apartment complex coming home with a cardboard Happy Meal box from McDonald’s. The smell of a hot burger and crisp fries were torture to my little nose.
I could even hear the fizz of the soda pop.
I would run home, ready to plead my case for how a Happy Meal was the only thing that could hold me over from near death.
“I am not giving you money to go to McDonald’s,” Momma said. “We have food here at the house.”
As my stomach growled for the meal of happiness, I waited for Momma to cook me supper. Right now, in the apartment above me, my friend was biting into a juicy burger with ketchup and pickle juice splashing against her cheeks.
She even had a toy to open after the delicious meal.
Supper would eventually be ready, and Momma would call me to the table.
“Since you wanted a Happy Meal, I made you one,” she said, putting my plate down in front of me.
But I didn’t see a Happy Meal.
I saw a hamburger patty in between two slices of white bread.The grease from the burger was so soaked through the bread that the bread was no longer white. It was almost brown.
We were out of fries, so we settled for tater tots.
And there was no toy, but I did have a miniature Moon Pie.
It was what my single-working mother prepared for me. Probably upset that we couldn’t afford to eat out that day, she made the next best thing to a Happy Meal.
Disappointed at first, I slowly took a bite of my burger. The ketchup and pickle juice slapped against my cheek, and all was well.
The tots were hot and crisp. And the Moon Pie-knockoff was the best thing I had put in my mouth.
My “Happy Meal” wasn’t that bad. It served its purpose. It made me happy.
I learned a valuable lesson that day. It doesn’t matter if you can eat out everyday, have name-brand clothes or buy the latest gadget.
Even if you are barely scraping by, if you have a smile and positive attitude, you can make it.
Dont’ worry about what other people have. Just be thankful for what has been given to you.
And make the best with what you have in life.
When I got home with James that evening, we both went into the kitchen.
Instead of Gatorade, we made a pitcher of Kool-Aid with a pack that cost less than a dollar.
And he smiled just as big with his red stained face had it been a name-brand sports drink.
Instead of Goldfish, we made a collage on our paper plate with cheddar Whales and a pile of raisins. Gobbling up the pieces, James showed me his reenactment of a scene from Jaws with his food.
With our bellies full of sugar-goodness and cheddar sea creatures, all was well.
James forgot about the Gatorade and Goldfish. He was happy to do something with his mother in the kitchen.
You can’t put a fancy price tag on that.
