I
began to think of ways to make a fresh start. I did not look at college as an
option because I was not smart enough. I thought of some things that I enjoyed
and would actually be interested in pursuing. The only thing that stood out was
cooking. All the time I spent at home while my mom was out trying to support
us, I had to eat. I learned how to cook at a very early age because I had no
choice. My brother was older than I was and he said I could not hang out with
him because I would always tell on him and got him in trouble, so when he went
out, I had to stay home with my aunt and she was the best cook in the world!
So
how could I turn cooking into something where I could learn, culinary school. This
was something that I decided to do all on my own and I just had to make it happen.
Even though I was excited about all of this, I really didn’t think I had a
chance because society said I couldn’t, my neighborhood said I wasn’t smart
enough or would even live long enough for it and I just didn’t believe in
myself. Nevertheless, I still wanted to say that I tried, so I went forward. It
was not until I received a phone call and a letter with my name on it that I
took it seriously.
“All aboard!” shouted the conductor as fog and steam
melted together like creaming sugar and butter to form a shapeless gray abyss.
I immediately looked up at the switchboard which shuffled chaotically as if
someone had lost control of a deck of playing cards that went sprawling
throughout the air. I was nervous so I stood there not sure what to do as
people thronged the train. I began to sweat because the crowd lessened and if I
did not act quickly, I would be left behind, alone and defeated. This would mean
having to return home unaccomplished, unchallenged, underwhelmed and ultimately
a complete failure. My next move would make or break me.
Returning home was not an option. I had too much to
prove, not only to those whom had complete confidence in me but more so to
myself. Unlike everyone else, I did not have any “haters” so I pretty much had
the respect and love of everyone, even those that particularly did not like me.
I always felt traditionally smart. You know, very good grades, well behaved and
willing to learn. I thought of myself as knowledgeable of many things but
nothing extraordinary to set me apart. I was average. Now intelligence was
something only garnered by the elite in my mind, college students. Though I was
commonly smart, I never felt I was college material. You either had it or you
did not and for me, I did not have it nor have I tried to get it.
I thought of the look on my mother’s face if she
opened the door to find me standing on the other side. I knew she would always
welcome me but she would be concerned and a bit disappointed though she would
never say a word. I thought of all those that relied on me and needed for me to
succeed so they could rest comfortably. It was more than a train ride, this was
our lives. It was weird. I was the one leaving but there were so many coming
with me that would never leave home. It was not common for people where I am
from to leave home ever, unless it was prison or because your parents were
shipping you to the South with relatives to help you get your life together and
your priorities straight. This was often a quick fix for unruly children. Send
them to the South and the family will get them together very quickly. The South
was almost like being sent to a boot camp and was generally any of the southern
states where there was good food, warm weather and great-grandparents still
driving around the small towns. Fortunately for me, this was not the case but the
pressure was on! I immediately drifted in my mind to all the events that led me
to this place. It was as if watching black and white filmstrips, replaying key
sequences in my life:
I
had a normal childhood. I had three parents: my mom, my grandmother and my
aunt. My father was around but not there. I went to school, made descent grades
and had a lot of friends because of my eyes (they are hazel but I was known as
the “Green-Eyed Monster”). My mom raised my four siblings and myself and it is
so strange to me how we all grew up together but were as different as night and
day. At any rate, I had a great childhood if you ask me and nothing would make
me believe otherwise. I did not have the best life growing up but I had the
best that I could have.
I
remember going through my rebellious phase. I had an ugly attitude and I knew
everything there was to know about everything, or so I thought. I lived in a
bad area of the city where people were afraid to come and most of my friends
were very unsavory individuals. My neighborhood forced me to become a fighter
and somewhat a follower. My life started to play out everything that society,
the media and the stereotypes said about me, and I could care less. It was fine
if I did not want to make anything out of my life but I started to get my mom
in trouble because I was not going to school. It was not until they threatened
to arrest my mom for me that I started to care about what was happening in my
life. After taking a long look at my situation, and what was left of my young
adulthood, I decided that I had enough. I could no longer complain about
anything if I did nothing to change it.
As I stood there at the loading dock, nervously
awaiting my destiny: would I leave or miss this train, I was so conflicted. I
was overzealous and anxious about this train ride but I was too timid to even
ask if this was the right train. Why is it that men refuse to ask for help,
especially when it comes to directions even if it meant being lost? Why am I
even thinking about not asking for help? I was focused on all the wrong things
because I did not want to focus on what was actually happening at this present
moment and what it would mean for me. I shook myself back into reality and
mustered up the courage to ask the conductor whether I was at the correct
track. He smiled and said, “You sure picked a fine time to ask, we’re about
ready to take off”. I wondered if he’d noticed me standing there internalizing
my indecisiveness the entire time. I opened my mouth to speak but he started
again. He said “This is the train, we make nine stops and yours is the very
last stop”. I chuckled with a sigh of relief as he guided me aboard.
I had one bag of luggage, one huge bag of luggage. I think I had packed my entire life in that
one bag. I literally had everything I owned in that bag, even my computer. I
packed as if I was never returning and that could be a great thing or not. As I
made my way through the door, the conductor must have seen me struggling with
the suitcase that weighed more than I did because he took the bag and told me
to find a seat and he would store it for me. My first instincts told me not to
let that bag out of my sight but for some reason, I trusted this guy whose
kindness towards me did not leave me standing on the pier alone. It was not
that I had a reason not to trust him but more so this being my first time ever
on a train and by myself. Sure, I was an adult by age but for someone that had
never been away from everything I knew, this was a bit scary.
I found a seat. It was directly in the middle of the
coach and in the middle of the train. I knew this because I had counted all the
coaches when the train had arrived moments earlier. It was a weird thing I did.
Some people have nervous ticks but I counted things like my fingers or anything
around that I could focus my attention on counting.
As I sat, I felt
increasingly secure. Why I felt safe in the middle, I could not answer but I
did. I was safe and secure. I settled in with one eye always on my luggage and
began to finally rest. It was not in the sense of sleeping but just being at
ease. I was very tense and overwhelmed initially and as I lay back in the
cushioned seat, I began to just rest. There was beeping sound that caught my
attention as I began to frantically look around to find out what it was. As I
looked on, I saw the train doors closing and the beeping was the alert. This
was it, no turning back now. The doors closed.
At that very moment, all my anxieties were gone. I
was finally free. As I basked in my own sense of accomplishment, I noticed the
conductors walking through the aisles, casually conversing with others and
punching holes in tickets. It reminded me that I did not purchase one. They
were going to throw me off the train, I was sure. I wanted to hide because I
was embarrassed and did not want everyone thinking I was a stowaway or
something. I wrestled with the idea of confronting the conductor before he got
to me or just wait for my judgment to arrive. In any event, I was absolute that
I had messed up big time. I slid down in my seat and braced myself as he got
closer.
He reached me finally. Before he could say anything
I blurted out that I did not have a ticket, I was not trying to sneak on board
and I would pay whatever I needed to pay to stay on the train. The conductor
laughed heartedly at me. Why was he laughing when I just broke the law? I
stared at him intensely waiting for him to make his move as if we were in a
grand slam wrestling match. He asked me where I was going. I replied, “You
don’t remember I am going to Vermont. Montpelier, Vermont?” He said “Oh yeah, I
sure do remember. That will be $90 with an on-board service fee of $500”. My
heart dropped to the pit of my stomach and I felt ill. I was sure that my pale
face had turned blue as I had just died aboard this train after hearing that.
My eyes welled up and I told him I did not have that amount of money. I had
enough for the ticket which I forgot to buy from the teller because I was
afraid I would miss my train. Again he just laughed. He said “Lighten up, I’m
just joking with you. There is a fee of $5 but I’ll let you slide this time.” I
felt my blood start to recirculate through my system as I hurriedly took out my
fare. He asked what was in Vermont and I said, “I am going to culinary school”.
His face lit up and he said “Wow! That is awesome! Are you nervous?” I replied
“I forgot to buy my ticket”. He let out a great laugh as he took the money in
exchange for my hole-punched ticket and wished me luck. Nothing else could
possibly go wrong now that I felt the engine starting.
As the train began to move, I finally felt exhausted
and needed to replenish myself after all the trauma I experienced. I looked out
the window and it was raining. The rain beat on the train vehemently and I was
at peace. I thought about how silly I was for forgetting to buy my ticket
before getting on the train. I thought of the possibility of going to jail
because I had forgotten to buy my ticket before boarding the train. My mind
finally rested on how nice the conductor was to me off the train and even when
I had made such a huge mistake. He even let me slide without paying the fee for
purchasing my ticket on-board. Was this a preview of what was to come for me
today? I was not sure but I did know I would only hope for the best. Again, my
mind started the movie again, specifically the first time I ever cooked
anything.
After losing a fight to my older
brother who had had enough of my tattling, I found myself home with my aunt preparing
dinner. I watched her cook. She was now ready to make dessert as she was famous
for baking. She made the normal Sweet Potato Pie and Coconut Custard Pie. I
watched her the entire time she cooked. 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.
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. I learned just then the importance of paying
attention to detail with food.
She opened the oven for me and I
placed the pie inside. Once finished, 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! At that young age, I discovered that I loved the feeling that
preparing food for others to enjoy gave me. I did not understand it then but
that was the beginning of my love affair with food.
I tried to drift to sleep but my mind was chaotic
like Speed Racer driving his Mach 5 through all the traps and pitfalls he often
found himself in. I was too excited to sleep. I was on a train for the first
time, away from home for the first time and on my own for the very first time.
I am officially an adult I thought to myself though my twenty-first birthday
was not for a few months. I was grown and already not off to great start but I
was still happy. As I watched the rain drops roll down the windows, I began to
cry. Why was I crying? I was extremely happy. I prepared for several months for
this trip and now it was happening. I had a plan and this was just the
beginning. I had to write an entry essay reasoning why I was a feasible
candidate and what I had to offer the school. The wheels in my head started
turning and before I knew it, I had written a 3-page essay that was only
supposed to be one page. Who would have ever guessed that I would be
enthusiastic about school?
Culinary school, who would have ever thought that I
would make it this far? The same guy with the huge mouth and quick wit was
actually putting his energy to use in such a way that even I did not think I
was capable of doing. Again, I always thought of myself as smart but canary school?
This was major. And I chose Vermont of all the places in the world. What was it
about Montpelier, Vermont that I found so fascinating seeing as I had never
even heard of the place until I started looking for schools to attend? I did
not know anything of the place other than it would be cold because it was close
to Maine and it was far enough away for me to be independent but close enough
to get back home if need be. I secretly think it was because my favorite
Christmas carol is Winter Wonderland and Vermont was gorgeous when the snow fell,
at least that what I got from the pictures I saw in the brochure. Whatever the
case, I was on my way.
As I gazed out at the greenery, I heard my friend
walking up again. Yes, the conductor had now received the title of friend
whether he liked it or not. I stood up and motioned for him and he started in
my direction. “What can I do for you Mr. Chef?” he asked. I smiled and asked
how long the ride was and he informed me that with the stops it totaled nine
hours. “Mr. Chef” he addressed me. I liked the way that sounded. That made my
day for reasons that I am still unsure of. I smiled looking back at the rain
which again concealed my tears. I was the second of five children. I was the
one that everyone looked to handle things and be a mouthpiece. It was finally
my time to do something for myself. But this actually was not for me. It was
for us all. I was going for my mother, the one that encouraged me to go out on
my own even if I had to be an adult and take out loans to do it. I was doing
this for my older brother, he that would be the business side of my efforts. He
was street smart, I was book smart and together we would be unstoppable with
our bed and breakfast inn. I was doing this for my three younger sisters so
they would see that even people that come from the place we lived could do
great things. This was for my grandmother because I always said I was going to
buy her a mobile home when I become successful. This was for my aunt who gave
me my dream. Yes, I was doing it for us all!
As the train moved speedily along, I imagined what
culinary school would be and how I was going to conquer it. I placed my head on
the side of the chair and positioned my body to face the window. I continued to
look out the window, seeing all sorts of animals: cows, horses, chickens and
etcetera. They all were looking back at me smiling and pushing the train along
to help me get there quicker and before I knew it, I was asleep.
I felt someone shake me and I drew myself up
immediately. It was my friend. He said, “You’ve made it. You’re here!” He
seemed as excited as I should have been. I wiped my eyes and looked out the
window. There was no rain in sight. I saw mountains of trees. Real mountains!
The conductor told me that he would help me with my luggage. I stood up,
excited and scared at the same time. As I walked towards the door, there was a
gentleman standing there. “Are you Graig?” I said yes as I looked cautiously.
He said, “Welcome! I am glad you made it.” I extended my hand towards his and
said to myself, “Now it all begins…”
I
learned at a very young age that the world was no friend of mine. Life for me was
a circle of experiences and lessons that shaped my existence all the while
making its way back around just to show me where I started. Many trials and
much suffering cracked me but did not destroy me because I was not built to
break.
