Eye on the Prize

As a child, Saturdays were the glory days, no

school, Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger, Sky King
and the like on early morning TV. And a new
box of cereal to open and dig through for the

premium toy buried inside—plastic cars, rings
and submarines, and my favorite, aluminum
railroad badges—Frisco, Illinois Central, Rock
Island Lines—hopefully a different one each

week to add to my collection. I had the cereal
maker’s trick figured out. They would bury the
prize deep inside the box, so kids had to eat
their way nearly to the bottom to get the toy.

I couldn’t wait, so I always opened the box
from the bottom. As I recall, most toys were
meant for boys. Probably because little boys
are far more possessive and needy than little

girls. I had two brothers, and usually a fight
broke out to determine who wound up with
the prize. Years later and as an old man now,
I don’t eat cereal for breakfast anymore. But

metaphorically speaking, I do frequently turn
the box of my life upside down fumbling around
blindly, still seeking some sort of reward. So far,
the payoff turns out to be that one more day on

Earth is good enough for me. And Lord knows,
I am certainly in no hurry these days to reach
the bottom. Fondly, though, I am remebering
Saruday mornings, Roy Rogers and Post Toasties.

Chris Hanch 8-6-19