By BILLY MURPHY
Laugh Lines

The first few times were easy. I had never pictured myself as an addict, but I am. My name is Billy and I'm a Kellogaholic.

For you laymen, a Kellogaholic is a person addicted to reading the backs of cereal boxes. My mother had always warned me. I remember seeing the films when I was in grammar school; something called “The Downfall of Kevin.” I never believed it could happen to me. It did.

I guess if there was one specific time that turned my life, it was in the seventh grade. We were all eating breakfast before school and when my mom opened the cabinet I quickly said, “Hand me the Special K.”

My brothers and sister looked at me like I had just denounced my faith or confessed I didn't like “KC and the Sunshine Band.”

My mom stood with her mouth open, “You don't want your chocolate Pop-Tarts?”

I couldn't even think chocolate, I had to finish reading about riboflavin. Quicker than Bill Bradley can say “I quit,” I was hooked.

It was just my dirty little secret in those early years. I rationalized it as educational. I justified it as a passing phase. But, I found my mind wandering in school, imagining what my teacher would look like wearing Cap'n Crunch's hat. During study hall I would zip open my book bag and sneak a peak at one of my single-serving Wheat Chex. Kids were so hurtful at that age. They would call me Grape Nuts.

As I got older, it got harder for me to hide my “problem.” I realized then that maybe it was something inherited. At the least, it is obviously a disease, probably genetic. I would like to believe I had control over these things. I don't.

Simply put, I was chosen from the masses and scourged with this dreadful sickness. I can't help it. My parents must be to blame. My father came from a long line of military map readers. If you don't know, in the military, reading the map the first thing in the morning was standard operating procedure. My dad's reading-during-breakfast routine maybe has left a telltale imprinting on my DNA, thus I'm not to blame.

Maybe society and the pressures of proper nutrition are to blame. Over and over I have always heard, ”Eat from the four food groups!! Eat from the four food groups!” I would call Doctor Laura if she wasn't so busy straightening out the Gay Coalition.

These days, things are still difficult. The nights lying in cold sweats thinking, if I could just go down and play “The Fruit Loops Loopy Puzzle.” Sometimes, for no reason I make up excuses to detour by Kroger on my way anywhere.

I have to continually recall, though, how hard my life was... How I ruined Christmas at my parents back in '92. The Chex Mix just brought back too many memories. As I look back, it pains me to think of all the money my parents threw away because of my problem: Breakfast reconditioning classes, bagel camps. Mrs. Butterworth's Clinic was no picnic, my friend.

So, today, I stand as a recovering Kellogaholic. I take it one step at a time. I eat grits now for breakfast. I read the paper. I get my recipes from “Better Homes and Gardens.” Now if I can just fix this obsession I have with watching “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.”

[Visit Billy Murphy on the Internet at http://billymurphy.homepage.com]

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