America's Favorite Cookie

Many would say that the Oreo is the most American cookie. The blue packaging boasts in big white bubble letters that the Oreo is “America’s Favorite Cookie.” The commercials for the cream and chocolate sandwiches show families delighting in dunking the cookies in a tall glass of milk. Older ad-campaigns gave the cookies magical qualities, spreading the mystique that those who got the half of the Oreo with the most cream could get a wish granted. The treat has even garnered its own song, “The White Stuff”, in the form of a parody of a New Kids on the Block song. Nothing could be more wholesome, more white, more American, than an Oreo cookie.
My family is big into Oreos. They are always in the car on road trips, are a staple of summer picnics, have a place on the table for holiday parties, and can be found stashed away in the most unusual corners of the house. Oreos are always on hand, so I suppose it was always assumed that everyone in my family enjoyed the treat. I don’t know why my mother never noticed that I hadn’t been eating the Oreos from the kitchen cupboard. My brother was two young to be eating solids and I had no other siblings or cousins. I guess having kids comes with the same excuse perks as having a dog. You can blame bad smells on dogs, and you can blame the disappearance of sweets on children.
I don’t know what it is about the Oreo, but other cookies have always been much higher on my list. The fake, flakey cream with the processed chocolate wafer doesn’t satisfy my craving for baked goods (probably because the Oreo is neither baked nor good). I’d much prefer an old-fashion chocolate chip cookie, but perhaps my love of the French Nestle is what made my mother call me unpatriotic.
One day, when having a picnic with my mother in the backyard, she offered me an Oreo. My 3-year-old self decided this was the as good an opportunity as any to tell my mom that the Oreo-loving gene had not been passed on to me. I refused the Oreo and said “I don’t like Oreos.” There, it was out. Now she could stop shoving that chocolate-flavored cardboard down my throat and buy me some Chips Ahoy. However, my declaration of Oreo-independence did not go over as smoothly as I had hoped.
“You know,” she said calmly, separating the cookie halves of her Oreo and inspecting which side had more cream, “Oreos are American. If they find out that you don’t like Oreos, they can kick you out of America.”
Much like an Oreo disintegrating in milk, my world crumbled around me. Kicked out of America? Where would I go? What would I do without my family? I don’t know anyone who’s not in America! I believe this whole experience was my first memory. Ironically, it was also my first time feeling impending abandonment.
Of course, my mom was just being sarcastic. However, my 3-year-old brain could not really process the subtleties of sarcasm yet, so imbedded in my subconscious to this day is a strong link between patriotism and Oreos. I’ve always recognized my dislike for Oreos, but it took until I was in college to recognize that I still eat them whenever they are offered. I guess I still have this fear of someone finding out that I do not like “America’s Favorite Cookie” and subsequently being deported. Looking back, at every road trip, picnic, school function, sleepover, First Communion, and school lunch, Oreos have been present and I have disdainfully, but patriotically, eaten them.
My neurotic eating of Oreos has subsided partly because I now realize that I will not lose citizenship because of my cookie preference, but mostly because the slogan for Oreo has changed to “World’s Favorite Cookie.” They can’t very well kick me out of the world. However, if they ever get that community on the moon up and running, I will be back to publicly eating Oreos and secretly despising them. But knowing my family, when we travel in our spaceship to the moon, Oreos will be in the cargo space right along with the moon-shoes and spacesuits.