“I’m still hungry,” my youngest said roughly five minutes after he didn’t finish his breakfast. It was an issue. He had developed the bad habit of playing with his food rather than eating it, and it was something that needed to be addressed. Luckily, I had foreseen such a moment and took the proper steps needed to combat it. Basically, I set said breakfast aside and played Words With Friends on my iPhone while the world went spinning on.
“Then you,” I replied, “are in for a treat.” I slid his breakfast across the counter as he climbed onto the same stool that he had only recently vacated. The stool was still warm, his food was not.
“This is my breakfast,” he said. “Again.”
He’s pretty quick.
“It’s your second breakfast,” I explained. “Like a hobbit.”
“What’s a hobbit?”
“You, but hairier.”
“They eat two breakfasts?”
“That’s what I’ve read.”
“Do you know any hobbits?” he asked.
“I suspect a few,” I told him. “But I can’t prove anything.”
His breakfast was colder than he remembered it. I assured him that was the way it was supposed to be. The hobbit way. One hot, one cold. The ying and the yang of a balanced diet(s).
“Do hobbiths get beg and strawng from eating so munch?” he asked.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I answered.
“Do hobbits get big and strong from eating two breakfasts?” he asked.
“I can see why one might think that,” I started, “but the fact-ish is they don’t. They don’t grow much at all.”
“Why not?” his concern was palatable and smeared with jelly.
“Well,” I took a breath and looked him squarely in the plate. “The popular theory is they might get bigger if they actually ate one healthy breakfast the first time it was served and didn’t waste food.” I let the time and money go — everybody wastes those.
“Healthy is good for you,” he said.
The light above his head glowed warm and knowingly.
“I only want one lunch,” he stated, “a good one.” I nodded accordingly.
It was quiet there in the kitchen save the sound of a boy chewing and a father counting his blessings.
My oldest walked in and poured himself some orange juice.
“Why is he still eating?” he asked the room.
“It’s my second breakfast,” answered the youngest.
The oldest took a long sip from a short glass. Then he looked at us both with too much understanding. “Hobbits,” he said, “never get bigger.”
He smiled as he walked out of the kitchen.
One brother ran grinning, and the other was right behind him.
The views in this post are not approved by, or affiliated with, the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. For more information on hobbits and the dietary issues thereof, please consult the assorted writings of Mr. Tolkien, or if you are in a relative hurry, the movie adaptations of the same. Thank you.