Midnight Snack

Everyone needs calories. The whole life thing depends on keeping your body going which requires energy. That's where calories come in. Most of the time, humans get their calories from food, but there is an important difference between the two. You could technically get all your calories from a tasteless grey packet of . . . something. But I'm sure we would all agree that . . . something, isn't food. Food is more than the calories you consume, it's about how you're consuming them.

An excellent illustration of this is the literal midnight snack I shared with four of my friends on that arbitrary line between Sabbath and Sunday. We had just escaped from "Almost Anything Goes" and decided that the ice cream sandwiches the coordinators provided just didn't cut it. Despite still being in character (the theme for the event was superheroes, and we were lavishly dressed for the part), we decided to visit the local Dairy Queen. It was midnight and university curfew wasn't until 1. That gave us an hour. In fact, that gave us precisely 30 minutes to walk both ways. Superheroes (and villains) don't need no automobile. So the adventure began, as any good adventure does, with us skipping down the sodium-street-lamp-illuminated, cement sidewalk, off to eat a Blizzard.

I agreed to join my friends despite living in the community. I knew my responsible mother was likely already in bed and wouldn't mind me staying out until 1, but she would mind being woken up by a phone call telling her as much. I would adventure with my friends, come back to pick up the car, and drive home. Besides, I had the cell phone in case something happened.

Sometime later, after numerous adventures too exciting to condense into a blog post, we arrived at Dairy Queen. Unfortunately, the proprietor had failed to account for the "restless college student" market (or deemed our business too erratic) and had inconveniently closed at 10 o' clock. Wallowing in existential angst (a serious symptom of ice cream withdrawal), we briefly considered downgrading to McDonald's ice cream instead. "Not so!" I cried. "Our trip shan't be for naught. Let's rush over to my house just o'er yonder Rite Aid and liberate the Klondike bars held hostage within the freezer!" The idea was amicable to all, so we hurried posthaste (as all good superheroes should) to rescue those suffering treats.

We quickly arrived, and I hushed my comrades knowing my mom was probably sound asleep (and sure my brother was). We would go in, save the ice cream, maybe grab a drink of water, and get out before you could say "Costume Party!" So, we commenced to do just that. I unlocked the door, and quietly escorted my cohorts across the house into the kitchen. Turning on one light, I liberated the Klondike bars from both the freezer and their packaging and passed them around. As I turned to throw the wrapping away, I caught sight of my mother descending the spiral staircase.

"Oh! Uh, hi Mom. I didn't expect you to be awake," I said.

"I noticed," she replied sardonically.

"Hey everyone, this is my Mom," I said and we proceeded to introduce ourselves. After introductions and satisfying herself with some (in retrospect perfectly reasonable) questions about where the car was and when I'd be back, Mom turned and climbed back up the stairs to go to bed. We too, soon left and, fortified with our hard-earned ice cream, began the long walk back to Andrews.

At this point, it should be obvious that the trip wasn't actually about the food. (Well, not totally about the food. . . . It was ice cream after all.) The food was merely an excuse for the adventure. A goal to be reached however we wanted to. And so it should be. After all, what separates food from calories is the story surrounding the meal, be it about the people, place, or circumstances involved.

Finally, because everyone has their own perspective on the "spiritual" side of food (and because I found the whole incident rather humorous), I asked my Mom to write up her side of the story:

Midnight Visitors.

I’ll just read a little bit longer, I decided. It was about 11 p.m. and another 10 minutes wouldn’t matter. But when I looked up again it was 12:30 a.m.! Definitely time for bed. As I got off the couch, I realized that my son, Theron, wasn’t home yet. Hmmm. That was odd. He’d gone to “Almost Anything Goes” at the gym, but that didn’t usually last much beyond 11 or 11:30 as far as I knew.  

Well, he had the cell phone. I could give him a call and find out where he was, provided, of course, that he had the thing on. The cell phone rang and rang, then switched to automatic messages. He must have it turned off. I left a message, telling him to call me, then I went up to bed.

Not long after I lay down, I heard a key in the front door. ‘Good,’ I thought, ‘he got home.’ Then I wondered why I hadn’t heard the car. In addition, sounds from downstairs indicated someone was with Theron. Puzzled, I got up and looked out the window. The car was not in the driveway, but Theron was definitely home.

I descended the spiral staircase to find out where the car was. From the bottom of the stairs, I looked into the kitchen to see quite a crowd, standing around in the dim light, faces painted with masks and symbols, dressed in make-shift capes and odd clothes. I will have to admit this is the first time I’ve found a crowd of super-heros and villains fraternizing in my kitchen.

“Oh! Uh, hi Mom. I didn’t expect you to be awake,” Theron said.

“I noticed,” I replied as everyone turned to look at me.

“Everyone, this is Mom.”

Various greetings reached my ears and it dawned on me that the crowd seemed a bit nervous, if not a tad embarrassed to see me, or guilty even. Theron definitely appeared nervous. At which point I noticed the Klondike Ice-cream bars in various stages of unwrap and devour-ment which everyone was holding.

To truly appreciate this, one must know that everyone in our house loves Klondike bars, and rights to them are jealously guarded. A new package of Klondikes had been purchased just the day before, and with one glance I realized my oldest son had just given away five of the six bars, and the sixth had been eaten by my youngest son earlier in the day! THERE WERE NO MORE KLONDIKES!

Now, wandering around with a painted face and wearing odd clothes after the hour of midnight while leaving the car at Andrews is one thing, but giving away all the Klondikes in the house is on another level entirely!! Theron, you owe the house an entire package of Klondikes! Pay up!

Love, Mom.

P.S. I hope your friends enjoyed the ice-cream, and the laugh we got out of this more than made up for missing the treat!

(Longer Essay #1)