Narrative Essay About Baking

I was 8 years old when I fell in love with baking. Before that Mother had never let me help out in the kitchen with her, Abuela (Grandmother) and Tia (Aunt). She said it was too dangerous for me and I would only slow them down. Baking is part of the family tradition among the women in my mother’s family. I could not help but want to, at the very least, watch how it was all done. I remember waking up in the middle of the night craving my grandmother’s “Torta de Cielo”(Cake from Heaven). It was December, my siblings and I were on winter break and my dad decided to take us on a road trip to Villahermosa (Beautiful Villa), Tabasco. To see Abuela and spend the holidays with her and Tia. We lived in Mexico City, so it would take a little over 9 hours to get to Villahermosa. Shortly after I woke up my brother Roberto (10yrs) walked in his sleep to the bathroom and managed to pee, flush the toilet,wash his hands, and walk into the kitchen scaring the crap out of Mom. She was careful when waking Roberto up, she believed in the superstition of never waking someone in that state. Mom was already making coffee for her and Dad so when she saw my brother standing there, eyes closed, half zombie half hu’mon she summoned all her strength to not scream on impulse. Mom walked him back to his bed and the moment she got him to

You could see the entrance to the kitchen, which was to the far right, from the point of entry, across the atrium. I continued running straight through the atrium past the bathroom to my left. I felt I was running so fast my feet never touched the ground. Made a light speed right hand turn. I could see and hear Abuela in the kitchen singing along to Eydie Gormé & Trio Los Panchos “Me Importas Tu” . The music was so loud she didn't hear me come in the house. I slowed down to a warp speed factor of .5 from a 9. I wanted to observe Abuela quietly before she realized we were