It started out like any other school day. I woke up, crawled out of bed and made my way into the kitchen. My fourth grade self wandered down the stairs and into kitchen in search for the perfect breakfast item. As I scrounged around in the cabinet, my hand fell upon a metallic covered breakfast pastry. It was a sugary, glorified Poptart. I grabbed the Poptart, covered in a thin layer of frosting, and promptly placed it in the toaster. My heart raced with joy as I awaited for the pop that signified that my Poptart was done. The pop always startled me but never deterred me from my excitement. As I cautiously grabbed the hot Poptart and placed it on a plate, my brother came trotting down the stairs to perform a routine similar to mine.

As he looks throughout the kitchen for his breakfast, he comes to learn quickly that what he wants is out of reach. I suddenly realized that he too wanted a Poptart, but there were no more. He watches in absolute horror as I take the first bite out of my breakfast and a sudden rage flows through him. In his moment of crisis, he does what any child in second grade does when they are upset; He calls the police.

I realize what he is doing and suggest that maybe this issue is one that doesn’t concern the police. Regardless, he dials 9-1-1 and the phone rings as we both stare into the telephone that asks us, “9-1-1, what is your emergency?” Scared and coming to terms with the mistake that has just been made, my brother hurriedly ends the phone call and places the phone down on the kitchen table.

We both shrug off what just happened and go about our morning routine. He eventually finds something else to eat for breakfast. As we finish getting ready for school, a knock can be heard on the front door. I answer the door, just assuming it would be someone I knew (not something I recommend to all fourth graders). Standing before me was a policeman, wearing his typical blue uniform and looking rather shocked at the tiny person he didn’t expect to be answering the door. He asks if someone from my house had called and I told him my brother had earlier. Perplexed by the simplicity of my response, he asks if there is an adult around. I shout for my mother and tell her a cop is at the front door. She quickly and confusingly comes down the stairs and to the front door to greet the unintended guest.

He asks her the same question he asked me. She doesn’t know what he is referring to so I catch my mother up on the latest drama that just went down in the kitchen and help clarify the situation to everyone. They finally grasp the matter at hand and the policeman asks kindly if he could speak with my mother and brother. I walk away and wait in the car with my sister before we leave for school. We wait for a total of 15 minutes before my mother and brother hop into the car. My mother stares out of the windshield for a minute and gathers her composure. She apologizes for the fact that we are late for school but the reasoning is because the nice policeman had to explain why it isn’t okay to randomly call the cops when your sister takes the last Poptart.