The Ledger

By Becky Holland

My daddy believed in oatmeal.

Not in a casual, “Sure, I’ll eat it if somebody else makes it” kind of way.

No, Daddy was committed.

At least twice a week, he was in the kitchen stirring a pot of oatmeal like he was preparing breakfast for royalty. It didn’t matter if it was freezing outside or one of those Georgia mornings when the humidity was already making its presence known. Oatmeal was on the menu.

As a kid, I tolerated it.

As a teenager, I questioned it.

As a young adult, I was convinced there had to be more exciting breakfast options than something that looked suspiciously like wallpaper paste.

Daddy didn’t care. Oatmeal was healthy, filling and inexpensive. In his book, that was three strikes in its favor.

Then one day he found a recipe for overnight oats.

Now remember, this was before overnight oats became trendy. Before grocery stores stocked shelves full of fancy flavors. Before social media influencers were posing with mason jars and wooden spoons.

Daddy just called it breakfast.

Naturally, I didn’t fully appreciate his wisdom.

Then, in 2024, I joined a monthly overnight oats subscription.

I know.

I actually paid someone to mail me oatmeal.

Looking back, that sentence should have been my first clue the subscription wasn’t going to last. The oats were delicious. The monthly bill…not so much. My budget finally looked at me and said, “We can make our own oatmeal, thank you very much.”

The subscription eventually came to an end, and I went back to finding breakfast on my own.

Then this week I was wandering through Walmart when something caught my eye.

There they were.

Individual bottles of overnight oats.

Blueberry Muffin flavor.

Naturally, one came home with me.

As I stood there looking at the label, I couldn’t help but laugh. Somehow, I had become the very person my younger self never imagined.

The funny thing about getting older is that your parents keep winning arguments they never knew they were having.

You hear yourself using their expressions.

You appreciate a good afternoon nap.

You get excited over things that would have bored you silly twenty years ago.

And apparently…you get excited about oatmeal.

Daddy would have gotten a kick out of seeing those bottles at Walmart. He probably would have picked one up, looked it over and said, “You know, I could’ve made that for a whole lot less.”

He would’ve been right.

The best part isn’t really the oatmeal.

It’s what it reminds me of.

It reminds me of a man standing in the kitchen making breakfast for his family. It reminds me that some of life’s sweetest memories are the ordinary ones we don’t recognize until years later.

Funny how that works.

You spend years thinking your parents are set in their ways.

Then one day you’re standing in the cereal aisle, happily buying overnight oats, smiling because you finally understand what they were trying to teach you all along.

Some things really do get better with age.

Apparently…

…including my taste in breakfast.