Blog 3

When it comes to a life’s calling, people often come upon them in many different ways. Some are trained at a young age, some experience things that open their fascinations and others are simply born with gifts, strengths and abilities. None of these were necessarily the case for me. Mine was a case of older/younger sibling relations.

My brother was two years older than I was but it was weird because at certain times, we would only be a year apart. I was very well received by all of his friends just because I was his “little” brother which I hated being called although being his younger brother did come with its perks. He was very popular in and around the neighborhood. He grew up in Newark with my dad while I lived in East Orange with my mom. So whenever I had the opportunity to go visit him, I was more than excited to do so. It became routine for me to spend every weekend with him over at my grandfather’s home. I did not have to worry about anything because everyone looked out for me and that was a great feeling. We would do everything together although I was not into the “street life” as much as he was nor did I like to go everywhere he went. I liked the inclusion and if it meant being around some unsavory individuals that were into some disagreeable things, I had to silence my conscience and go along.

I began to realize that I got in just as much trouble as he did when he would do things that I knew of but did not say anything about. He would do things like cut classes, steal rolls of quarters for the laundry to go to the corner store and etcetera. It was small things of that nature but I was always with him. I did not like the feeling of being categorized with him because I was always known as the “good” one. I did well in school, behaved well at home and never caused any trouble but now that image slowly began to tarnish at no fault of my own. I was not particularly happy about this so I started to secretly tell on him to save myself. He eventually caught on to what I was doing and decided that I was no longer welcomed to hang out with him.

I remember being around eleven years old one particular day when he and I were fighting about going to the swimming pool and he refused to let me go along with him which meant I would have to stay home with my aunt. We fought but ultimately I was the loser. My aunt was very special to me, not only because she spoiled me but we shared the same birth date. She was always old from what I could remember which probably sounds weird but at eleven knowing someone that was eighty-two years old was almost unbelievable.

On this day as I found myself home with my aunt whose age did not leave us much to do together. I remember she was preparing dinner. I had watched all the cartoons I could stand and was bored beyond comprehension so I went to the kitchen where she was and watched her cook. As she finished, she was ready to make dessert. She made two seven layer cakes. The first was coconut with strawberry filling and the second was a vanilla cake with chocolate icing which she made right on the spot. After this, she prepared to make some pies that she was famous for baking. She made the normal Sweet Potato Pie and Coconut Custard Pie. I watched her the entire time she cooked; I was her helper. As she finished up the pies, she asked me if I wanted to help her make a pie and I obliged. I was excited! This would be the first time I ever cooked something extraordinary. It was an Egg Custard Pie. I was not going to eat it but I definitely was going to make it.

She gathered all the ingredients, instructed me and I followed every direction given. I had a huge egg beater and I whisked the eggs with the sugar like there was no tomorrow. My aunt took a plastic spoon and told me to taste it. I did not want to because I did not like eggs but I did. She asked, “What does it need?” I told her more sugar. She replied, “Of course you would say that. You did not put in any flavoring boy.” It was vanilla extract she referred to and after adding a teaspoon to the batter, the mixture had a totally different taste and characteristic.

She opened the oven for me and I placed the pie inside. We waited for what seemed like an eternity and then it was finally done cooking. She took it out the oven and I was ready to eat. She informed me that baked items must cool off completely before they are cut or eaten because everything needed to settle. Again I had no clue to what she was speaking of but I waited. I did not want to eat any dinner. My focus was the pie I made.

After it finally cooled, she still would not let me eat any. She said that we would let everyone else have some first and not to tell them I made it. So I kept quiet and watched everyone eat. I still did not want dinner because I was too excited about the pie to think of anything else. Once everyone finished eating, I asked my brother how the pie was and he said it tasted as it always did, good! I was happy and I told him I made it. He did not believe me until my aunt stepped in and confirmed I did. He told me I did a good job. It was the best feeling in the world. My older brother told me I did a good job even though he was still upset with me for telling on him earlier. I felt overwhelmed and inspired!

I did not understand it then but that was the beginning of my life. I remembered how my aunt prepared everything with her hands. She did not use anything out of a can and everything was fresh. She was preparing me for my future and I did not even realize it. At that young age, I discovered that I loved the feeling that preparing food for others to enjoy gave me. It was with this inspiration that I eventually decided to continue to cook and ultimately attend culinary school. As I look back, maybe I was supposed to tell on my brother so that I could be left behind with my aunt. I found my calling and realized this was what I was meant to do in life. What my brother meant to hurt and discourage me actually became my passion and greatest inspiration.