The Cereal Bowl of Life

I'm thinking of my old neighbor, Dr. Freeman this morning. He, more than anyone else, inspired me to become a physician. (Well, he and that little shit of a cardiologist at Santa Monica Hospital with his great sport coats and red V12 XKE convertible.) Dr. Freeman was a physician in that rapidly disappearing old sense of the word, a man who truly looked to the needs and concerns of others; carried a little black bag; made house calls on Saturdays to little old ladies.

I'm thinking about Dr. Freeman this morning as I'm mixing my cereals, my Cheerios with my Oatmeal Squares and Wheat Chex, and a small handful of leftover Fruit Loops for color. Fruit Loops always seemed to be a staple at the Freeman breakfast table and this morning, as I poured out the fruit Loops, I had to smile as I remembered Dr. Freeman: I will never forget him sitting there at the head of the breakfast table, back to the window, newspaper laid out, pouring his coffee onto his cereal. His son and I stared wide eyed and Danny objected only to be told, "What's the difference? It all gets mixed up on inside anyway."

It's an interesting lesson and observation, albeit lost on a couple of 12 year-olds. Imagine if we could all allow ourselves to be so nonchalant. If only we could recognize that blacks and whites and Jews and Muslims and Christians and Democrats and Republicans and straights and gays are all tumbled together in the cereal bowl of life. What a wide eyed revelation it would be if we could only understand it doesn't matter. It all gets mixed up on the inside. Fruit Loop or Cheerio-- it's all just cereal sharing a common vessel.