A Cookie Won't Help

While drinking my morning coffee and reading the newspaper at the local bakery, I watched as the young parents entered the establishment, a small blond girl with huge, round blue eyes, bundled snuggly against the cold wind, was in tow. While her parents stamped their feet on the doormat to restart the circulation in their legs, the lass was pulled, as if by an unseen magnet, to the pink, green, and purple cut-out cookies in the glass case.

She pointed to the pastries on the bottom shelf, secured safely behind the transparent barrier, and looked upwards to mom. "Cookie?" She was few in words but her eyes expressed a dictionary.

"No," said her mom, "Not now. You can have milk if you'd like, but not a cookie."

Undeterred, she continued to stare down her mom, pointer finger pressed tightly against the glass.

"No," her mom repeated. "It's too early."

No change; defiance; a principle was at stake.

Mom squatted, lowering herself to eye level of the toddler. "I'll tell you what. If you're good today, Daddy will bring you back this afternoon and you can get a cookie then. How about that?"

The young girl considered her option, decided it was acceptable and walked away from the glass.

"Interesting how early it starts," I thought. She can barely use words, but already her rewards are provided in the form of sugary goodness. It reminded me of the joke where Johnny, being the rambunctious young lad that he is, is riding his bike full tilt down the driveway, utilizing all the energy and enthusiasm appropriate to a six year old. Approaching a bump too quickly, he loses control of his two-wheeler and tumbles onto the cement.

Strong, but in pain, he picks up the bicycle and hobbles back to the porch, limping slightly from the accident. Mom inspects his damaged knee, assures him that it's minor, and says, "You know what will make it better?"

"No," answers Johnny. "What?"

"A cookie."

Mom reaches into the bear-shaped ceramic jar on the counter and pulls out a large chocolate chip round reward. She hands it to Johnny, who immediately holds it against his bruised knee.

"When will it make stop hurting?" he asks.

Personally, I think it's fine to take pleasure in the taste of food; it's a sense to enjoy. Yet an overhanging question is "Why are we doing it so much?" I do not believe that the only reason to eat is for sustenance or nutrition; but we also must keep that in the forefront. When we look at the shape of our society today (pun loosely intended), it seems to be apparent that we forgot that we eat to live, not the other way around.

When I'm bored, I want to eat. When I'm sad, I eat. When I'm angry - you got it. You know, there are people who, when they're bored, they read a book? When they're sad, they call a friend; and when they're angry, they take a walk. There's a clinical term for that kind of personality: it's called "skinny."

Those habits didn't develop themselves overnight. Somewhere down the line, they learned something different and their actions took a different path, leading to a healthier life. Maybe, - who knows - as a small child, they were told, "If you're really good, Daddy will take you on a bike ride later today."

We might not be children but a bicycle won't care.