I believe in eating sandwiches for breakfast. I ate a sandwich for breakfast this morning; two pristine slices of crusty, cheesy, sourdough bread hiding an avocado center. I ate a delicious sandwich for breakfast this morning, and you know what? I’ll eat a sandwich tomorrow too. I am 17 years and 4 months old, and I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, whether or not I want to get married, or even what college I am going to attend. But I know one thing for certain: I am sick and sore of being put in a box. I step out of that ugly, typifying, cardboard box when I eat my sandwich at 7:00 am for breakfast. No, I don’t want waffles, bacon, eggs, cereal, or any of that other qualified quote in quote “breakfast food”; I want a sandwich.
I can eat breakfast for dinner, dinner for lunch, and lunch for breakfast 365 days of the year; the concept is the same: I don’t want to be defined as ANYTHING. But high school is all for the animal kingdom. My grade is classified into vast and diverse groups of species, just like pancakes are classified as “breakfast food”: The water polo players tighten their clique, the die-hard music lovers rock out, the popular kids gossip, the athletic guys burp, the Asian posse praises hello kitty, the misfits act strange, the girly girls giggle, the too-good-for-you guys gloat, the Pokemon club deciphers pikachu’s next battle option, the bad girls discuss their rebellious ways, and then well, that leaves me. I am proud to say that I dance to the beat of my own drum, and personally, I think everyone should. My good friend Jennifer won’t set a foot in my direction when I sit with a “different” group of people at lunch, who aren’t “cool”. Isn’t this the sandwich-for-breakfast theory all over again? Stop me if I’m wrong, but I can have my cake and eat it too, or shall I say, I can have my sandwich. People who immediately enclose their peers in confining, cardboard boxes are sad. But then again, I know so much more than them; I know that Leslie collects thimbles, Kimi loves prunes, and Doug’s best friend is his Australian cattle dog, Poptart. Oh, and Lauren eats sandwiches for breakfast.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.