Blog 7

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.