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Grocery shopping just isn’t the same since they removed the toy department. That’s what we used to call the cereal aisle because many cereal makers used to put cheap toys in the box as an enticement to purchase their product. As an adult I find that amusing and a bit of a waste. After all, how much of an enticement beyond a pound of sugar in every bowlful do you really need?
They don’t seem to do that much anymore. Considering what they charge for some cereals, they should include the bowl, spoon, and a milk cow. Admittedly it would be difficult to put the cow in the box, but a certificate would work. Come to think of it past prizes have included novelty spoons of different varieties. My favorite being the one that had a Star Wars light saber handle. The scoop part of it actually would light up.
While I feel sorry for today’s young, I think their parents lament the demise of the prizes just as much. As soon as we hit the grocery store, mom would send me to the cereal aisle to select my cereal. Instant baby sitting while mom strolled the store unencumbered by her offspring. She knew that all the possibilities would keep be occupied allowing her to shop at her leisure. It was her generation’s version of “me time”.
It was a big deal when I was deemed old enough to select a cereal of my own. Up to that point it was always Corn Flakes. That was my dad’s pick. Getting to pick my own was modern-day rite of passage that ranked right up there with getting my driver’s license. A true sign of coming of age.
I was—and still am—a Cap’n Crunch man at heart. But a lessor cereal with a top-notch prize had to be considered. Anything that flew, floated, or had wheels took a higher priority to a figure or a puzzle. Those didn’t do anything. They didn’t move and were too much like school. I didn’t want an education. I wanted a bowl of sugar-coated chemicals and a free toy. I had my priorities. Simply put: the cooler the prize the less important the cereal. But you had to be careful. Pick a cool prize in a cereal you likely wouldn’t finish or be able to pawn off on the dog and you were right back to eating Corn Flakes.
Some of my best cereal box winnings include a Quisp Flying Saucer, the cars powered by a balloon, and a boat or two. In doing some reminiscing on the internet, I stumbled upon a site dedicated to cereal boxes through the years. I noticed one of the prizes was an atomic sub. Now how do you get one of those into a box of cereal? That’d be harder than the milk cow not to mention containing all that radiation. Man, I wish I could have gotten one of those babies. Sadly, they made an appearance before I did and didn’t stay around long.
One of the coolest prizes I got didn’t come in the box. It was actually part of the box. It was the single “Sugar, Sugar” (fitting title for a box of kid’s cereal) by the Archies. It was pressed into the back of the box. You had to cut it out of the box to play it. Wow! Music on cardboard. What will they think of next?
It seems to me that the cereal industry had it all wrong. If they wanted to sell cereal, they should have left the prizes out of the sugary stuff. Those sell themselves. They should have saved the prizes for the less desirable ones. The worse the cereal the better the prize. Hot Wheels in the Corn Flakes. Walkie Talkies in shredded wheat (the non-frosted kind, not Mini-Wheaties. Shredded Wheat was like shredded cardboard.) And in Grape Nuts you get a car. Not a model either. I’m talking keys to something low slung and fast. Even then folks wouldn’t eat that stuff. But you could take it with you in your low-slung, fast car in case there’s snow or ice. Grape Nuts is better than ice melt or sand for traction….so I’ve heard.
For those not into All-American gratification, there were also box-top prizes. That’s where you were required to collect so many box tops from the cereal in question. When you hit the correct number, you stuck them in an envelope with two bucks for postage and handling and sent them to the cereal company. Then you would receive your over-the-top prize in about four to six weeks or in kid terms: an eternity.
That meant you had to eat at least twenty dollars’ worth of the cereal and send them two bucks so you could get a toy that would cost you one dollar and fifty cents at the Five and Dime. But it was from the cereal company! That fact alone made it priceless. “Mom can’t you see? It’s from the land where they grow Crunch Berries. It’s magical!”
The gotta gotta have it prized for me came from Puffa Puffa Rice. This supposedly Polynesian creation was puffy, roasted rice—according to the commercial—sprayed painted with some vitamins and good ole cane sugar. (Just like mom used to make.) I’m guessing the only thing Polynesian about this was the cane from which they got the sugar. Still I doubt all of it was grown in Hawaii…if any.
I loved them, though not because of their promise of “hours of energy”—no doubt from all that cane sugar—but because of the promise of a model of an outrigger that you could sail in your tub or pool. We didn’t have a pool, but by golly we had two tubs and I was determined to sail them both.
I had to eat my weight in the stuff, which was a feat in itself considering I was a chunky kid and a box of puffed rice weighs nothing. After consuming more boxes than I was old enough to able to count, I had what I needed. Mom put the box tops and the two dollars in an envelope and placed the whole affair in the hands of the U.S. Postal Service.
It finally arrived. Upon opening the box, I noticed the good folks had included a bonus at no extra charge: some assembly required. I guess they knew I would be a parent one day and needed the training.
Once assembled, I filled the tub and launched my Polynesian prize. I have to admit. It actually was a great toy. It sailed many a mile in the Tub Sea. Even as nice as it was, I don’t think I ate Puffa Puffa Rice again. I was pretty much Puffa Puffa puffed out.
The prize patrol was handed down from one generation to the next in our family. Our children spent time cereal selecting, but not as much as their pop. There were fewer prizes then and none were really tantrum worthy. Granted the perspective of parenthood could be coloring my judgement on that last statement. Sometimes being an adult sucks all the joy and mystery out of life.
I recently brought home a box of the wonderful Cap’n C. I wanted to see if it was as good as I once thought or if the perspective of parenthood would indeed suck the joy out of childhood. Turns out it gets better as I age.
As I munched while absent mindedly reading the box, I was suddenly transported back to the time of footie pajamas (Dr. Dentons). I was sitting at the table with my dad. He with his Corn Flakes and the morning paper. I with my Cap’n Crunch and the box (my morning paper). Saturdays would find me with my bowl in front of the TV soaking up Bugs Bunny while my cereal soaked up the milk.
It was a ritual that would follow me into parenthood. The cartoons were different, but there were still children soaking up toons and sugary cereal soaking up milk. And I was right there with them.
Indeed, the Cap’n Crunch was just as good as I remember, but the memories were even sweeter and definitely the best prize I ever discovered in a box of cereal.
