Mama fixed oatmeal on cold mornings when I was a child. As I got older, oatmeal became "gross". One morning Mama sat the bowl in front of me and I told her that I wasn't real hungry. Daddy asked why and I told him that oatmeal was gross. Daddy said "of course it is not good, you haven't made it taste good yet, I wouldn't eat that either".
In the land of 10 year old girls, I was happy, my Daddy had agreed with me, oatmeal was really not good. This was very important in my world, a parental figure had agreed on an obviously life altering subject. I was feeling pretty good about myself, maybe I could have something good for breakfast now. You know, like kid food, the important things, cookies maybe.
Daddy handed me the butter knife and told me to put some butter in the bowl, and I did.
He told me to put 2 teaspoons of sugar in the bowl, and I did.
Then he told me to mix it all up real good.
This is the important part, he told me to pour a little milk around the edge of the bowl, so I did.
Daddy looked at my bowl, and pronounced it good enough to eat.
Daddy was right again, my 10 year old dignity was saved, and my Mama was happy because I left the house with a warm breakfast in my tummy.
This is the way that I eat oatmeal as an adult, of course I smile thinking about Daddy convincing me to eat oatmeal.