During our recent camping trip, as Charlie and I hunkered down in the tent, preparing to sleep, I proposed that we enjoy a late-night snack:
Pop-Tarts.
Charlie had never eaten a Pop-Tart before.
I know. As his father, I’ve really let him down. So I was making up for lost time.
I removed two frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts from the wrapper and handed him one. “You’re going to love it,” I said.
He took a bite, then another, and then another. “So it’s like a cracker,” he said, smiling. “With fruit filling and frosting.”
I couldn’t believe that he had reduced something that I love dearly to such base descriptors.
A Pop Tart is resplendent. Culinary perfection. A snack of the highest order.
Despite his insolence, I didn’t criticize Charlie’s description. I was simply happy that he enjoyed it. I explained that there is also a cherry-flavored Pop-Tart, which is equally delicious, and blueberry and raspberry flavors, which are not nearly as good but still yummy.
I also warned him about some of the Pop-Tart pretenders:
Flavors such as brown sugar cinnamon, chocolate fudge, and peach cobbler.
Pop-Tarts trying too damn hard to be tasty.
I didn’t warn him about some of the more bizarre Pop-Tart flavors. Unspeakable, radioactive creations like:
- Eggo Frosted Maple
- Frosted Boston Creme Donut
- Frosted Confetti Cupcake
- Pretzel Cinnamon Sugar
Who do people try so often to ruin a good thing?
I also told him that many of these flavors are also offered in the unfrosted variety, which is simply insane.
I can’t remember eating my first Pop-Tart, but I’ll always remember Charlie’s first:
Sitting in a tent, late at night, dropping crumbs on our sleeping bags as we cracked Simpsons jokes and reminisced about the day.
I hope he will, too.
